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the word whisperer

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

The Song

Small rainbows in facets of a diamond
And bells ringing pure as drops of rain,
Inhale aromas – rose and almond,
Soar northward, echoes, like a crane;
The heart, the voice, – one breath of the soul –
Pour forth, then hover, like crimson lips
In search of a little brass keyhole:
Come in, water the dreaming tulips;
The voice – silent, the song – long faded,
But nothing can end the presence created.


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