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Girdling the fancy
of a poet
And a goddess.
I have missed the
bird of violets,
As if I were
smelling his scent in every valley,
I thence can see
myself rambling around,
Dogged by seduction
And violets alight
From the
tune-playing moon of mine,
I am henceforth
still living out,
For violets,
Are loud in my
corpse’s praise.
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From a bird’s
shell,
Violets emerge,
Singed by their own
rays,
In serenity they
sketch
The color of their
sadness,
Vessels for
departure
They paint the sun
violets,
They curl her into
a sail
For the violet
butterflies.
Had not there been
an ecstasy for violets
At my own genesis?
They coil around
me,
And they cast the
locks of my hair
A scarf
For a temple
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