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The wind is howling through the old oak trees.
Who would have thought?
Sweet smiling eyes, sweet eyes smile,
Whisper your secrets in a cat’s ear
But I can see you. The hunter is here.
Lift up your frock, at least above your knee,
And the wind is howling, howling through the trees.
I can see you hovering in the corner of my eye
First left, left to right and sink lower again,
It was a back tooth wish this time,
Quarter for quarter and swallow a dime.
The first clock is chiming but the last keeps the time.
And the wind is howling, and the trees cry.
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Tie a yellow ribbon...
Posted Oct 28, 2008
I liked the serious lymaric feel this has. I also liked the way I could also feel the writer (you) jumping about as if a 'will-o-wisp' was interrupting you and making you change the poem. While the theme changed and danced around, this seemed to work and made it a very interesing and whimsical pi... (
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