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Oct 2016
A short eight line poem
promise of things unsaid
or complete in its simplicity
stretching my imagination.

Do I read between the lines
try to search the poet's thoughts?
I cannot help but sour my own
sown like weeds among his vines.
Written by
Tony Luxton  Runcorn
(Runcorn)   
404
       Sofia, ---, Doug Potter and PoetryJournal
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