I have lost the words I used to dance with.

The ones that sang in my ears and kissed me.

The sweet distractions through winter days.

I have lost the words I put together to cheer me.

They have left me dancing in sandy deserts.

And sandy words break apart in dry witticism.

They have no melody for my perched lips.

They have chocked me with no bright seeming.

The music of words is all I long to hear.

I run through the distant brown of sands,

For a single melody that’s cheering.

The musical words of minds and hands.

For my thirst I will fly over and kiss it.

I will leave it on my lips without a taste.

So the words of melody will sing in my dying ears.

And the bliss of imagination will leave in less haste.

When they find me, they will water the words.

They will water the words around me.

With the pouring springs the words will flow.

When next, the words will seem like Irish Bree.



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