Creator of imps and impish fruitfulness, You arrived in due season. And left when duty asked it's due, Lamented by those two impish boys, Of your and our encounter and making, Leaving us a present of your presence. The air around the office chair That you moulded to your spatial shape, You left us luscent and light As an outdoor flame, glimpsed Rather than seen, felt in contrast Rather than grasped in reality. © kfg moore
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