I vow proudly:
One far-off day,
My deary-dove,
Sing-sung under sear-of-sun again,
As even the Bard of Avon began—
As many since have raced a heart-whim—
I’ll reach to raise goosebumps on your weathered skin;
Be unglum, darlin’, ever-daring-when
You’d thrum of mem’ry and love:
Hum it then, my lady—
And hum loudly.
—for Kea
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Poetry: Redshift
https://windstrewn.com/2020/04/27/redshift/
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