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When I Wake

  • Roy Arthur Blodgett
  • Nov 22, 2016
  • 1 min read

When I wake to see you

stoking the coals

in your underthings,

feeding a log to the fire

with your stout

and lovely hands, which

make so much of nothing,

and you turn, smiling,

and come to lay, somehow,

despite all odds,

beside me, my heart

can do nothing

but this fine

surrender

 
 
 

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