Our minds have become intimate with words.
We fly together like two paper birds.
Small creeks, big rivers and the mighty sea,
Sustains the lyrics of calligraphy.
My friend, the lamp of sunset lights the grass.
Leaves paint old panes with poems of stained glass.
Deft fingers pluck the lyre-strings of the heart.
Emotion is as beautiful as art.
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Comments about this poem (Paper Birds by Sandra Fowler )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(18 November 1939)
(30 December 1865 – 18 January 1936)
RoseAnn V. Shawiak
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