Called Of A Voice, Beyond The Hills Poem by james watkin

Called Of A Voice, Beyond The Hills



Mind's jungly vines, these stifle
Anarchic, their flow;
Bloom not; and but nasty reek
City-hung; high and low

What of Thought, I'll make way for
Whilst thus clear aired lured
A honeyeater's fine taste
At peace that's pleasured.

Thursday, July 21, 2022
Topic(s) of this poem: thoughts
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james watkin

james watkin

Melbourne Australia
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