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■ The oak
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Dreaming over his written words
Dreaming over his absence Over foreign lands that lie across Between us Out of sight Out of touch He understood me so well Better than some who were too close And could not see the true me He could read and see All so clearly Inside and outside me Out of reach Land spreading us apart And even time Not working the same way I let my poem flow Does it need to rhyme? I let my best thoughts And wishes My warmest feelings Be sent to him Out of reach Out of touch Yet his words Warm and melt my heart
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