Anonymous as cherubs
Over the crib of God,
White seeds are floating
Out of my burst pod.
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Charming. I like this poet's soul. It is not angry, it is not petty. He seems to look around himself and take pleasure in what he sees or finds reason to find that pleasure.
As casual as cow-dung Under the crib of God, I lie where chance would have me, Up to the ears in sod. Why should I move? To move Befits a light desire. powerful observations. tony