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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Twenty-two stands high above a
valley
Wondering which town will be its own.
Each field below is like a vivid dream
Nestled by the necklace of a stream,
Though distance makes the water still as stone.
Years wait, a treasure time will someday tally.
There is an unfelt fear that makes one
dally,
Winds whispering of more than can be known,
Of shadows deeper, colder than they seem. |
