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poems writing

Swiftly

She moves swiftly between her true age and my dreams.
Wearing youth in her calves
and worry in her brow.

She moves swiftly between her true age and my dreams.
Wearing youth in her calves
and worry in her brow.
She is relentless as an ocean
and forgiving as a river’s bed
Tireless as the shadow of a cloud
running over the hills
Sleepy as the afternoon grass
under a tepid sun
She belongs to me, yet no part of her is mine
She gives herself completely,
but remains reticent to the end.
She loves me, and I love her
She is the earliest sunray in the morning
and the last light at the end of the day.

By Alioscha

Born in Buenos Aires, a teenager in Madrid, an adult in Victoria, BC - what a mess!

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