Young Vines That Creek? - Poem by Mark Heathcote
You’ve spoken with a dead or dying star
Each night you’ve gone to sleep.
Is it a reflexion of a prayer?
No one should ever keep?
Do you clutch it like a new born starling?
When first its tired eyes first open to peep.
Is it a gentle reminder that the old they too
Must have been young vines that creek?
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