A Poem Poem by Robert Creeley
A Poem
Rating: ★4.0
If the water forms
the forms of the weeds, there—
a long life is not by that
a necessarily happy one.
My friend. We
reckon on a simple
agreement,
the fashion of a stone
underground.
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4/25/2024 4:21:14 AM # 1.0.0.1119
