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May 2016
Don't we two hearts oft seem to tread
on common sands?  A common thread
appears to bind with no great dread,
with not a word, between us, said.

The rhythm of your ebb, my flow,
as fate takes us where we might go,
so coincide, suspicions grow-
is there some plot we can't yet know?

Your face I see, in maddened crowd,
with silence that echoes aloud.
If coincidence, I'm wowed-
if cosmic hand, it should be proud.

As subtle as sand on the wake,
who knows where next our waves will break?
Adrift on currents we both take-
The Cosmos makes no such mistake.
A Rondeau, one of my earlier attempts at the style.
Clayborn Todd Wooton
4.5k
 
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