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I got it wrong,
But only the wind could tell.
After it blew the leaves
Into a pile of dust, it
Went by me whooshing
Like a train late for the
Last station made of gold.
The next thing I knew I
Held a poem in the
Palm of my hand,
And the softness of its
Lines forgave my
Latest transgression on the
Rules I didn’t want anyway.
Please put together a collection of your lovely poems in a book for all the world to read? Seriously, I'm no expert, but you should be submitting this stuff. :)
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