Wealthy words, seldom
Chance a meet -
The upper skin of flattery
Thrift, and beguiling means
Playing a clown
Louder of voice
And
Like a drudge, stinks
Smelling down the lower edges of
Black truth
A purer heart, weave
A cosmic beat, simple
to wear our souls
with that of divinity
That trills out words - Skylark
in every spacing of our beaks
And flutter unknown universes
Whirling our hearts around
To that uniformity of wishes
Let my brethrens awake!
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