The Blog of DonkeyOkie
Allusions, Illusions, Poverty, Oklahoma, and Other States of Mind
Friday, December 21, 2012
My moon is half full.
The other half is spilled years
Spread across the sky like milk.
My moon is waxing,
Despite the loss of time.
I have hope, but still I wonder:
If the north star gives directions,
Why does it hang so lonely in the sky?
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Stone Stars and Sandalwood
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