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Sep 18, 2007
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In Her Turn
She spoke to me
Marked softly
In her turn,
It seemed to be,
In liquid Polynesian,
Of a Grecian
Graceful urn.
She looked at me
Quite fiercely,
Avidly,
Once there to see,
Squished pronely
Alying in my open hand
Amongst white grains of beachy sand,
A gift of feral fern.
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