Growing light, may thy being ever shine,
Not be cloaked in grey falsely conjured cloud,
But unabashed across the reach of thine,
Through lilted wood where bird and insect crowd.
A giddy hush of variegated leaves,
Dancing upon delicate outstretched stems,
Looking to burst through crocheted canopies,
From scraunched broken shelled, dusty husk spilt hems.
Destined to fertilize the sacred ground,
Where their own scattered seeds will one day lay,
Until they are eventually found,
Where bright eyed smiles wash long shadows away.
For is not life pure contracted duty.
To nourish nature and sustain beauty?
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Comments about this poem (Growing Light by Anthony Di'anno )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
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Edgar Allan Poe
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(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
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