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From A Young Poet


Not so long ago I met a young poet. She wrote some lines about me from our first meeting.

Lives by heart, dreams like moon
life dawns in his eyes
to kiss the gold.
There you go with the puff of the next cigarette
as the smoke of class defies gravity...
There you go with a wink of vintage
pretty oblivious, but does strike...
There you go with the hidden gestures
unmindful,
yet leaves the imprints...





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