Best Poem of S.A. Blair

A Whisper Of Winter
There's a murmur in the trees
You can hear it whispered low
that summer's on its knees
and all the flowers know
that the season took the bees
and the grass it will not grow
and the waves sit on the seas
as the wind begins to blow
no longer just a breeze
see the branches to-and-fro
all the . . .
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There are books upon my bookcase
And though most of them are read,
One or two still have their spines
Intact. Not like me.
My binding,
Loose from the get-go,
My contents not foreseen.
Not by me at any rate

This bookcase once felt like a pigeonhole
I struggled to get out.
I made it . . .
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