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A W Bullen
Poems
Apr 2020
Shift
ah-ha,
my itty harbinger,
of all-means-green,
All hail!
(a voice not heard
since Woodcock fell
on cusps of wet November)
Your two-note declaration
comes with umpteen possibilities
emaciated yesterdays
disintegrate in sound...
Written by
A W Bullen
Cardiff
(Cardiff)
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