Is It Poetry
Into her hand out of reach.
Esteemed, fine grapes university
Made from a puff of smoke.
A matter beneath the ground,
and the wind when it sings
is of poetry and beyond
don't stop what you are doing.
If it fell beneath your hand,
my sword is still in reach.
I teach the mind of snow
sanhartlee, which she knows.
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Comments about this poem (sanhartlee by Is It Poetry )
The Road Not Taken
If You Forget Me
Still I Rise
Edgar Allan Poe
I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
Stopping by Woods on a Snowy Evening
William Ernest Henley
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