Emancipation of poetry,

The passage of the afternoon
Of a spring, usually remains such,
Under feet the wizened leaves
And from above the screen of a light
Coming down on everything,
Slowing and stretching the day
To the hilt of softened rays,
That all around lucidity paint,
Only to be assimilated and sensed
And turned into something
Even more wonderous, sensory a thing,


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