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Welcome ! | Home · FAQ · Topics · Web Links · Your Account · Submit Poetry · Top 30 · OldSite Link | 02-June 12:32:17 AEST | ||
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Array
(
[sid] => 12291
[catid] => 1
[aid] => Mick
[title] => HILL TOMB
[time] => 2003-02-09 18:40:00
[hometext] =>
[bodytext] => HILL TOMB
Creeping around the pockered hill, * Sunlight varnishes branches crimson. * Time seemed to stand still, * Skin taunt began to moisten. The old must die, * New must come forth from its tomb. * Nearby a falcon flies high, * Casting an eye on nature’s bloom. Out of Gods home a humble life, * Not human but a living creation. * Now eager to join the wildlife, * Wing ribbons dry slowly and harden. Distant hills with glory on there summits, * Grassland waits for thy scythe. * I had to admit bathed in a yellow gauntlet, * Life was so good as I writhe. [comments] => 1 [counter] => 164 [topic] => 54 [informant] => wellsmark [notes] => [ihome] => 0 [alanguage] => english [acomm] => 0 [haspoll] => 0 [pollID] => 0 [score] => 6 [ratings] => 2 [editpoem] => 1 [associated] => [topicname] => happypoetry )
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