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Hope you had a good night’s sleep Faye
He coos holding the cup to her lip
Nice isn’t it the morn’s first sip
And be ready for a lovely day!

By the way sweetie I had a good sleep
Long, dreamless, deep
If I don’t count that recurring nightmare
You’re sitting broken on your favorite chair!

Can’t stand to see you broken that way
From me you ever being taken away
And one morn here I’m alone to weep
Not holding a cup to Faye’s lip!

You know sweetie I meant it true
When I said would die without you
For you my love is so deep grown
I see it mirrored in the rusted bone!*

Faye’s eyes don’t move a blink
His words in her quietly sink
There’s a thrill in her timeworn bone
That her man would never have tea alone.
  Aug 2014 life's jump
ryann
Consider the potential of poetry
To free men’s probing minds,
to spill their hearts so totally.
The power of the verse reminds
that the stringing of mere syllables
can transform lowly language
into something greater than itself.
I equate it to a miracle.
That despite time’s passage
poetry can give such a true sense of self.
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