Somber Puddles

Force a word among yourselves

and the let the Forgivers’ lot pass

Stir for me an Intercession–

a world between Rock and Grass

only a dead influence hinders us

For Rock and Moss will grow–

Clouds will go deep, like Cellos

with everyone, an Instrument,

playing cords on the streets,

and from our Iron Towers

will pour, in time, like sorrow–

rain, rain into the silver grimes

of the earth, and let the heads

see gladness in their Pond,

new birth has never been wrong.

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