Friday, October 26, 2007

Why do you sit there as the morn breaks?
She is the midwife of the oceans
Whose bones are old and broken
Where the small children play
It was peace lillies at christmas
A type of forgiveness
Standing down by the river side
Footprints in the sand.

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How do I lose myself?

I am not easily misplaced Or forgotten, Arriving as I do Before even the curtains draw And that first morning jug boils, Bleary, yes Grudgin...