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Another poem

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My Fog: The Moral Cleaner

I sat in a sunset's dip of glean;
its pre-rain trickles dressed in form
to wash my shoulder's decked forlorn--

just like a friend on whose shoulder you lean,
When adversity is a face in all that you've seen,
It seeped up my woe in an evil conform,
and flung it to the turbulent crest of a storm.

My whims were unleashed in melodious green,
Spare sockets of fog rising pupils doth showed,
Creatures of life for life it was,
that syrup-drip-frost-licked the leaf of a bow,
fleece enshrined clumps of mushroomed fuzz,
which grew from the birth of a seed moist sowed
and twirled serenades of a bee-strung tune of buzz
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