In The Froth Of Life - Poem by Mark Heathcote
It's here a dandelion clock
Is nodding in the froth of life,
A meadow overwhelms us:
And all our early seven-senses
It's here a yellow rose is growing
Its first buds amongst a iron fist.
It's here our ankles weigh heavy,
Trembling like two ship anchors,
Docked in a harbor;
Leaving, two ports of call with a siren kiss.
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