i know what the caged bird
feels about you and me who invade
woods; these are, i think i know
dear to him moving towards the river
some evenings i roamed the moor
beyond the bounds of snowy mountains
while you sat under the tree in autumn
moving stone to bronze and to steel
munching a plum or pulling out your thumb
watching phantoms in the changing crowd
while my hair cut straight across my forehead
that all people in Greece disliked and hated!
© henry victor 11.01.2016
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