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I saw a bride splendid in white garmentsI saw a woman with one hundred children The children plump and firm within her arms,
Dada has stories from Calcuttawrapped up in his big belly.When he belched they would unravel.
Forest could keep secretsForest could keep secrets
It's five past three.Sixty-four eyes look at me.No. Sixty-two.Not Matthew.He hasn't learnt to read my face.He's got digital. A disgrace!
'Why do you run?' I asked the river,'So fast I can't compete.''I run,' the river said, 'becauseI have some streams to meet.'
The willow and the windare natural dancing partners;look how the willow weepswith the joy of movement,skillfully rooted to the spot.
In our flatfaces speakof places across the sea.
In our flatvoices walk intalking, but not like me.
Spring is baby,bright, fresh and new,gurgling with the melting snow,singing with the first cuckoo.
At dawn, she climbs over the horizonto slink between the curtainsand rest her head on your pillow.
This morning she got upOn the happy side of the bed,Pulled backThe grey sky-curtainsAnd poked her headThrough the blue windowOf heaven,