In The Poet's Hands
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In the poet's hands,
Objects are transmogrified.
Suns are golden gods,
And moons are weeping angels.
Gleaming stars are eyes.
Snowfall is fairy magic.
Forests soon become
Teeming, deep green galaxies.
In the poet's hands,
Lexicons are woven with
Dream- like colours,
Of every shade; every hue.
Clocks are eternal,
And truths are flowered & winged.
Mundane life becomes
A carnival of splendour.
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