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Replying to a comment on:
Mosaic (Free verse) by Caducus A mosaic blossom
fell like his father
on to my Father
carried by his sons.
Holy holy water
mixes in to candle faces,
I am alive. Carrying my life
yet carried by my children
I made it to Psalm thirty four.
An apple blossom
fell like my arms
around my newborn daughter,
on to my Father,
flesh of wood
to dust and granite.
In life he worked lathes,
in death â emotion.
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