Poem I

! Young Faun, stumbling along

 The winding unseen road,

what unlikely events prolong the grace of a midsummer dawn,

The birds song is sweeter

 breadcrumbs that litter the gutters

  of the gaunt, the hungry crowds.

Ode to my dear son, a sun, its light breaking you,

A wave beats down into you

 shield your torn skin as salty tears fall from it

Fiery shores of the unknown lie ahead of you


     so whispered the silver birch, bed in the dirt

clouds hanging above a dark little island.


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