No Stone Left Unturned
J
James McLain
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Roaming fields your bays searching
for that special find of food.
Honey of your lips I seek more bread
to fire an oven warm.
Smooth such sheets from which you gaze
hidden pond is emptied much
to soon.
Many fishes in my well it came to you
a memory of the time you drank so
heavily from this well of life
sated now your belly full.
Bu şiiri puanla
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