The postman
A print, perhaps a book
or an echo of intentions,
a sincere gesture shaping the air,
is all I am in days
when the fabled postman
roams free and delivers.
Poetry by Bob
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Written on 2011-03-02 at 19:31
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John Ashleigh |
Texts |
by Bob Latest textsI seldom walkthere’s a rumor there will be no full stop so many regrets who am I |
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