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Tuesday, 25 November 2014

Coffee with poetry muse

Today again
as every morning
I invited for a coffee
the poetry muse
and these were
her last words

Your street sounds
as thousands chainsaws
For my hearing
that could be ruinous
I need my ears
so that the poets
could write about
the birds and the crickets
the wind and the cascades
I would be grateful
if you would never
invite me again

Now I sit with tears
my loyal companions
and I dream again
about my garden