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A P Taylor
Poems
Jan 2018
Airs lie
Air hangs in grey of
plasters strain,
sitting in solid mass
lost tirade.
As trees branches
searching rain,
grass in half light
gold plaid.
Sheen of showers
palings decay,
cracks pink glaze
sills framed.
Shadows of birds
upon do stray,
to an ebon sheet
airs aimed.
Upon eve
Written by
A P Taylor
Melbourne
(Melbourne)
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