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Sijo
Can one capture
the scent of sandalwood on a summer wind?
Ah, to be born with a poet's heart, sweet nectar on the tongue.
Still I wait for autumn to color the pages of my journal.
Down hill, away
from the moon
my eyes turn to the darkness within.
Away from long days of musing
in the sun, dreams of love.
Each footstep falls in the spaces
cleared by woman before me.
What's this sway
of sea flowers
underneath the moon's fixed stare?
So smooth the sound of your voice,
genteel words gliding over me.
A bouquet of wine upon my lips,
tonight I dare to dream.
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