How they flutter
in the brain’s
quaint chambers,
those we loved
before we knew
love for more
than a casual,
affable torment:
as though not
a day had passed;
luminous, ambered,
butterflies
stuck in the brittling
pith of the mind.
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3 comments:
That's beautiful, John. Thanks.
Thank you, Bill. Nice to see you...
Better late than never Pund, and did you see, he's got blue letters an' all now?
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