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Pantoum

Eyes shining without mystery,
Footprints eager for the past
Through the vague snow of many clay pipes,
And what is in store?

Footprints eager for the past
The usual obtuse blanket.
And what is in store
For those dearest to the king?
The usual obtuse blanket.
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Thursday, February 5, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: mystery
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