"ofy" poems
sa
yn
ota
wor
dor
)don
'ts
a
ya
words
m
o
u
t
h(h
o
W)about
how
in
winter
slep
th
ard
ly a
letter
ofy
ourbody.but
(with a verb i
you
the aching
and all the birds
of a forest
leapt
from
SLUMBEr
and rose
upon
the crimp
of darling youth
a flower,
,
.
,
,
.
Sep 18, 2013
Sep 18, 2013 at 11:03 PM UTC