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An essence of poems

In an extrusion

a mist of poems
read to the pink dusk
of September

-a pearlescent haze suspended-

before some fell like blooms
from a Rose of Sharon… 39 more words

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Singing the moon

In a twildly dusk, I see
a flaxum and her mimbles, we
open talk and loydal sing
with sunbeam-laden mulbering.

The verse rafeals a higher cause, 71 more words

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