1419
sun tap
beam in
little bird
hop
thing of
childhood
as in the
dream
tells
nothing
cannot
quite reach
white sails
dot
blue for as
far
have seen
the harbour
dims to
chug
and all
these little lights were
vanish in
there was
no writing then
take this
swallow
good for
arrows lean
to show
yet there
is a colour faded
there are
these pale notes
truth to
light
so
fashioned
what’s that?
and why?
I hide a
cloak
in mystery
when words
were new
worlds
inventing
cosy by
led from
dough
stretch
and bake
let animals
all in
we’re home
first of
things
particular
give me
smoke in winter when
beside a
steaming cup
nothing to
put away
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