My songbird knows, that she isn’t clothed, she shouldn’t know, which way the wind blows
My songbird sees that the knowing leaves should never cease to give up her prose
My songbird lies, and lies in wait, she never shapes, as long as the tide lows
My songbird gives a calmly wink, a roaming tink, grappling sighs of heaven throes
Poet from The Winelands
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Magical!