For the Boy Who Found His Maternal Bog

August 29, 2008
Bespattered and rooted he slept,
Warmed by the shroud of antiquated tradition,
And guarded by the ancestral crook...
My darling feral boy,
He speaks the proper tongue of mires.

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sfh09 said...
Aug. 31, 2008 at 2:25 am
This is the most tersely beautiful poem I have ever read.
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