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Heavenly bodies trillions an’ trillions
Play the fiddle to unsound the un-calm
In an’ the wretched Out, schizophrenic
At most, ceaselessly from the nascent
Spell which fell to the hell to be the Past
Gave space to the new born Present,
Hope to the fetus full-term
Waiting in the green room
For the appearance glorious
As anxious as an actor new face!
The funny stroll is that of a kite
But the String concealed strictly
Graduated cleverly and clearly!
What a measure, well designed!
Future the unborn is the luckiest
For it is the hope, life ever green!
The infant suckling I am, relish
The feathery Tune, the caressing Mute,
The cradling Note and the juggling flute!
The Stroll never-ending, the Space unbound!
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Poetry.com 3.4 out of 5 based on 0 ratings. 5 reviews.
Yam-tin Martin Wong More than 1 year ago
A bundle of joy and a bundle of work!
Gunjot Luthra More than 1 year ago
good one
Ofuonyebi 'Dinobi More than 1 year ago
nice job
tamaya vaughan More than 1 year ago
i dont really get it. but it is a nice poem. good work
Clayton Nichols More than 1 year ago
not sure of mean of some words or the entire poem
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