Morning glory

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Born, bloom, die
All in the one day
Blur a glass darkly,
Drift away.
This physician’s proof of death,
A girlhood’s fleeting fancy,
A garden romance
A moonlit dance
Chopin playing lightly
And no rectangular wooden box.
Instead a living thing with feathers
Whistles through my head
Across the broad Atlantic to raise the dead --
Your ravaging femininity instead. .

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Uilleam Ó Ceallaigh

Fri 19th May 2023 07:00

ravaging femininity


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