10 August 2014

Last Word

This little place
to turn and pace
filled up with sand
sometimes with grace

O wheels, turn
O letters, burn
I fire the love
for which I yearn

A half-made song

a moving on

spread the ashes

forget the wrong


Thank you for reading, if you've wandered by.
Today's the day for this blog to fly.
More poems may appear - 
but over here:

Go well, 
be well.

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