An afternoon and a windchime,

And there is,
Sometimes an afternoon of winter,
With windchime on a door,
And warm sun on the floor,
And a few moments
Of perfect poesy and indolence,
A bit of indulgence too...

And there is
A time stopping for a while,
To see,
Just to see
And to be
In a state of creative energy,

Crafty, design like, 

And just to live,

By poetry,

And nothing else,

For the moments,

Hold perhaps all.

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