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A Lost Spring |
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Quick
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Eugin Robinson A Lost Spring The warehouse, one should move With caution lest he stumbles. Dark attics, dumped papers, Smelt of yellow. An armchair that looks like a shipwreck, A rain that thundered down with fury, A legion of cats, all domesticated, That died one by one. Then a park bench, on it a receding twilight. With birds smeared all over. And squalor, cobwebbed wraths Fights, separations. Splintering giggles, All yours, my beloved, And, in a corner, your Symmetrical smile hanging in the air. Your smell penetrating Nostrils, as fresh as it was real. Spring reigns in that corner, But ever receding, ever receding. A flood, no, a twister, I stored you Up in that twilight, intertwined Like snakes.
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