prose of charron
sown and seed
is planned
for days that May
no Song of Solemn
–SOS
in vining verb ballet
just rows that grow
toward sun—below
tundra and decay
an idyll—no
demands play
within unbounded lines
defining best
not moral
less
the verdant and divine
but metric feet
of grapes so sweet
–sweeter still than wine.
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