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.
Sandra Fowler's Other Poems
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