John Pilkey Poems

Don't ask me any more about my friend
Who never was because she was a girl;
She might as well have been a rustling squirrel
In hidden paths that never condescend
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Old comet ice caught deep against the moon
Awaits its thaw like phoenix ash alone
Where nothing hears its chilly, silent groan
For liquefying, warm revival soon
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The poet Tasso sings of water's grace
Because of how it gathers as it should
Since God the Maker made its going good
According to its flowing into place.
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