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Grace I

Because she raises diamond eyes
And smiles, and brushes back her hair
There will nae harm befall her
Though she be a stranger here

The air seems warm and golden
In the space beyond her table
Shadows cast their purple pools
And evening bids to turn to night

Yet round her peaceful face
Still seems to hang a little light
Lest any passing fail to see
And rest a poorer man tonight

The common garb of laborers
Conceals her slender frame
But ’tis borne tha’ proud an’ humble
That it canna do her shame

Sure ’tis you’ll wish to courtin’ be
And every man the like
But no one’s able ta draw near
Her glance can paralyze a man ‘ere
He has even left his chair!

Oh, ay ~ I’ve seen the type a time or two
She’ll solitary board and bed
An’ then she’ll off an’ on her way
But a spot of warm like sunshine
She will leave inside yer head

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Ana Daksina View All →

A poet is the strangest sort of soul
You in this life may e'er expect to meet
More broken even while more truly whole,
Innocently intending well, more sweet

Than any but a five year old should be
Unfit to meet a callused world's demand
Or to behave aught expediently
All grace in flight; an albatross on land

Do not the all too common error make
Do not fall into the too easy trap
Avoid the fatal egoic mistake
Imagining that poet be a sap

Powerful spirits classic and antique
Give voice when poets ope their mouths to speak

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