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Liam C Calhoun Jun 2016
Thorns tickle my throat
Come
The cranes that feed their
Children;
          My son’s already inventing.

The night’s my only staple
Come
The stars that sing for
Others;
          I list in endless insomnia.

Slowly glowed the river
Come
The golden sorts of
Dreams;
          I leave them for my progeny

          And surrender to what I’d sworn.
They'd become my everything, they'd 'ever be my everything.

— The End —