Tuesday, March 14, 2006

Questions

Where is the concerto
That used to play
Upon my parched beach
With dancers of pure white clay?

Where burns that soul fire
Within your comet gems
That sparkle with
Such subtle desire?

When cometh the wind
Of Autumn spice
Thou Winter cold
Should suffice?

Perhaps today
We shall find
Perhaps in here
Behind those eyes...


JKLM

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