A blank page
Like the blue sky,
Open
To be written.
I choose words, as birds,
those in it would fly...
exclusive, unrivalled
the good and the beautiful
to the ear and the eye
for the clever and the
cool.
I don’t withal sense
how in your blue
light and dense
you let all
receive your hue...
and yet again,
when you fall as the
sea
your solitary image
becomes your order and
your plea.
My words choose
to drop on the page.
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