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Apr 14, 2008
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400 Rods Above Mount Tija
Like a loving caress I feel the mist
Swath me and nestle me as I drift
And make my meandering way
Through turbulent banks of clouds
And emerge, though briefly,
Into the sunshine
Before again,
Listlessly,
Being
Cloaked.
Soaked,
Fleeing,
Possibly,
From sun's disdain
Though I don't malign
That glistening marquee
That, I know, creates the shrouds,
The colossal intense bouquet,
Through which my travels, though oft not swift,
Will bring tranquility, should I persist.
— Pugilist, Apr 14, 2008
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Critiques
Jonathan Moore
18 years 1 month ago
This is an experiment
Skumpfsklub
18 years 1 month ago
Proximate and distant rhymes
Jonathan Moore
18 years 1 month ago
I believe you've nailed it