Blessing Crusts
When day turns inside outHours stand on their heads
The wholly undevout
Golds follow their leads
Ourselves all turned about
Axis spinning threads
Each whisper heard to shout
Breaking like glass beads
Splinter into clouds to burst
Deserts drown in hyacinth
Mantelpieces ply a plinth
Blessings raining on the crust
Poetry by Chaucer Whethers
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Written on 2014-03-22 at 07:28
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Nabeela Altaf |
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