Is It Poetry
Fifty leaves I saw today, before I saw.
The trees so deep the suns red flare
and briefly light laid soft upon the cake.
Upon the cake.
As the sun runs down the sky,
memories flashing past so fast I flash.
No time to wish.
Before the break so fast comes dawn
and night would never die.
Having had I've known and wishes such they are.
At once she should have known
Bending there aside her long stem
gown and red and white each checkered
clean the waves like wind the tabletop.
And yearn to blow each breath,
too blow them out one breath away.
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