Best Poem of M. Bloom

What'Ll It Be?
The human soul
Is but the drink
Of the broken man
At the bar, sinking
in his golden therapy.

The half empty
Flask goes flat
As he grumbles
About his lack
of love and luck.

But he drinks it off
Through his spirits,
And though he
May not appear it
he's like all . . .
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Winter Stain
Midwinter dew drops
Falling upon the crunching plain
Slowly freezing, making way
For the wondrous winter stain.

The frosted treetops
Once green, then gold, now year-end grey
Softly sift their powdered joy
Through dark night and barren day. . . .
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