Come take my hand,
I’ll soon be the sand that
Blows near the ocean
But never settles down,
A sound like a whisper
Born from a dead tongue,
A finished elixir,
A temporary fixture,
A song partly sung,
And the fun
Of a gun
That’s never shot
Anyone.
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March 5, 2012 at 3:38 am
“A finished elixir”
curious and tickling phrase
March 5, 2012 at 7:19 pm
Thanks Evelyn