The book is made of glass and I look
through it and see more books.
Many glass books.
Is someone speaking?
A muffled voice is telling me
to make soup which I think
means I am loved.
What other kind of cup
fills itself?
Can there be a cup of cup?
A cup of itself?
Outside a black squirrel has wiggled
to the end
of a very skinny branch.
When the squirrel breathes
the whole tree shakes,
as if the squirrel were the soul
of the tree.
Have you ever felt like
such a tree?
Not sayin'
I have.
(Source: POEM-A-DAY from the Academy of American Poets)
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This is such brilliant poetry that howsoever I wish to and whoever I am thinking of right now absolutely fits into different lines!
A song, a verse, a few lines that make my heart jump up and down!
I am a free bird, and yet I wish to perch on a branch someday which will be surrounded by a cool shade with a tumbler of lemonade underneath; a little girl sitting on the steps of her house waiting for someone to play with on a hot, summer day.
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