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GROUNDED OAK TREE
I sit lonesome and weary, a wreck -
A shroud wrapped around my gleaming neck.
My world spins in a paradise of swinging palms
And I wonder about drinking in beachy halls.
Often, a holy animal guide comes to see me;
And I explain my problem with the sea.
That open theatre where I can never get tickets,
There I sit surrounded by flying crickets.
Once, I stumbled on that "Starry, starry night" -
Its' sombre vice clamping me to its height.
To hundreds of these great soldiers, I drink;
Those that never grieve in pink.
And while those bright corals sway down under on their reef;
And as long as those sharks, they live by the reef;
I hope to dive in my cage.
Never turning to the contents page.
June 2001
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