Swamp Echo
Writers often wander far
amidst their words – weeds
as well can have beautiful
blossoms...sneezes and watery
eyes, can be a hazard with all
fond images, those prized and
common. Sometimes I wonder
what you saw in me, certainly
no exceptional rose nor orchid?
No Caruso! Maybe a croak or
two above a pond and its frogs:
Lord knows how many times
I have been awakened by my
own swamp echo. I guess, love
will always be somewhat of a
mystery – a bit outside all sound
and visions; somewhere, not quite
the core of a heart, and just
beyond the outer rings of a
mind. Planets apart, while
each of us affected by the
other's distance and dizzying
orbit –
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