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Jun 2016
gleaming face

gentle wind strokes

winter mist

amidst the dusk spectrum

occasionally, the horn sings;

forward we must go.



from a poet

with silent tricks

to broadcast nonchalance

guiding lively slaves

through a path

scattered in pain

the brittle loc’d poet

says blow the horn.
Written by
Lesego Thole  South Africa,Johannesburg
(South Africa,Johannesburg)   
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