922
paean
days
when the weather keeps in bed
certain
words
moss
the mind
shelter
in a midst
turn
around to see the rain
the
too familiar rain
find
me at a stretch
or
in ablutions
I
have to have been guessed
certain
pictures
these
notes stick
in
your eyes
mine
certain
times
day
shows its hand
in
words returning
sung
to be so
know
of the future
just
things
will have forgotten me
in
tin we trust
to
hold off sun
and
rain
until
we
rust
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