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Maria Barbara Korynt


a play of rays


a play of the sun rays in a glade
is a riddle for me whether the sun isn't abusing
its competence
dropping this hot a weapon
on green grass
golden rays are romping
about then immoderately

it is burning green stalks mercilessly
sometimes a rain to hit it through

the cloud as a warning, and in a minute
hot tongues are drinking the juiciness

indefatigable brightened imps are feeding
on the tired grass

as sun tired with the day, like the
golden spider weaving thin threads,
it will call them to the dream,
on the radial web,
and then they will have a dream
about silver butterfly amongst
white cherry blossoms
and a day...

Submitted: Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Edited: Sunday, August 30, 2009

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