Regularly Folds. Poem by Paul Cornell
Regularly Folds.
Its depths so vast like nothing we know,
the warmest a bath - the coldest like snow.
The life it can give but also it holds,
the shallows of its edges it regularly folds.
The place it lays it can always be found,
its innocence unrivalled by anything around.
Monday, October 10, 2022
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5/5/2024 5:17:08 AM # 1.0.0.1119
