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The Poet in His Shadow

Where my thoughts fall

I see a falling leaf,

While biting into an apple

I would turn deaf.

It’s not my fault

I can hardly see far

Things fake a somersault,

Yet the door is ajar.

Someone calls

I’m not sure I’m home,

Shadow falls,

I need a road to roam.

Ask the mountain how

It stands in your way,

Storm and wind do blow

My pen shows the day.


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