Words, Wrought

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A poet?
        Takes words and makes them into images
        I can look and see when I read words
Feel the breeze from the hot-sands
        the dunes adding their tangy grit
as you write of the wastelands of Arabia

        A poet?      I can see that child
sitting in her chair and writing
        her first attempts
as the carriage rocks with the motions of the horse,
        Come with Me and see

Sooner than later the stars come out
        and your words are writ large
across the firmament

Hide not again, little one
        Life's purpose is bereft of reasons
who shall it be      Take the first trembling steps
        Mark the passage        and return again

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