Ode For A Dryad
B
Barry Middleton
0
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like a tree swaying in the wind
like grace
and the drift of air and leaves
she amazes
her hand is a thin soft branch
reaching
where a bird sings and weaves
dreams
her eyes reflect silent waters
and moonlight
as midnight kisses the forest
with sleep
her touch is the narcotic mist
of devotion
the precious gold of a sunrise
in Arcadia
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