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Charles Brannick
Poems
Jul 2016
The River
The music has ceased
stirs remain from the dreamland
a sleepy voice asks what time ?
and looks for it's shoes
I had been inhaling words
in small sips for some time
and with a large exhale
a school of small fish
are returned to the wild
I always return
young and unbeaten
first sun
fresh snow on the mountain
I am the river
and this is my song.
Written by
Charles Brannick
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