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The Nature of Words


On words that might be gifted onto me

By angels high or devils down below

I profess and confess to not hold key

To make this cursèd blessing freely flow.


Great discourse lives in distant wood untamed. 

With care, disguised on songbirds’ feathered wing

And hidden among lovely fields unclaimed;

How could I hope to fathom this wild thing?


For, once, with ink and pen I did coerce

A cage to bear these feral beasts inside

But like bright stars they burned right through my verse

Refusing life when forced to die confined


'Twas only when they roamed without restraint

Did they arrange themselves in letters quaint.

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