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It's three 'o clock
When poets talk
As ticking's heard
This silent word

Flows to my pen
Over and again
Rhyme's created
Simply complicated

Intellect is fleeting
Writer's passion bleating
A sheep going to slaughter
As once the Oregon beaver and the otter

Being here, all will die
Faithful grace upon high
Convoluted verses twist
Rising abyss up to be kissed.


10/29/2005 0340 cj






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