ONLY LATE IN LIFE
Something happening. Rhetorical forestry.
Moon in the cave of a sea drift log. Not mine.
Its ugly world drove me to buying. Then.
Nothing. So I approached its limited light.
And forgot to sigh its unmanly sighs just
Because the boys expect a timber tone. Just
For gentle's sake. I traveled off-world to
Specify which crow had spoken aptly to
One of us who had come upon the book
Of speaking crows. These trees are not
So numbered now. Some chilly orations.
Listen HERE.
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