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REFLECTIONS AND MIRRORS
The Nature of Words
On words that might be gifted onto me
By angels high or devils down below
I profess and confess to not hold key
To make this cursèd blessing freely flow.
Great discourse lives in distant wood untamed.
With care, disguised on songbirds’ feathered wing
And hidden among lovely fields unclaimed;
How could I hope to fathom this wild thing?
For, once, with ink and pen I did coerce
A cage to bear these feral beasts inside
But like bright stars they burned right through my verse
Refusing life when forced to die confined
'Twas only when they roamed without restraint
Did they arrange themselves in letters quaint.
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