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Kentucky Mayday

Along the Kentucky River on first May;
You strode tall, I stumbled, over roots
of old oaks that ridged across our rough path:
bright in new leafy growth,
Nature's cynics giggled, girdled, showing their ages
in deep rings and dingy bark.
Then ritual cries of Isis rose up in me
and I boldly wished to kiss you
beside a cold brook
where willow trees stuck long-fingered,

delicately-nailed branches into very springs
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