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(to seated silent eyes)
by T.P. Wilkinson / June 25th, 2023
In caressing hands
The path steep that follows the vine Where thoughts in summer Their sap still draw From soil deep Through wind and rain Until in caressing hands As fruits ripened Their way they make to wine.
This article was posted on Sunday, June 25th, 2023 at 8:02am and is filed under Poetry.