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Poetry is just the evidence of life. If your life is burning well, poetry is just the ash. Leonard Cohen

Friday, July 5, 2013

Tulip Queen

courtesy of Photobucket
She was the tulip queen
Wild and red, she ruled
the meadow 
Flowers grew at her touch
Grasses bent to her will
Even the birds
sang on demand
The fields were her island
The rocks, her castle
To find her retreat,
her haven,
her heaven,
she had just to cross the bridge
of her mind
It may have been a bit unstable,
but she never fell.