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Oh melancholy fog I bid hello a clear imperil compromising view a singular Sparrow uncompromising Grace how you sit in my bog of decay on a singular stick reminders of life outside a cage and I long to tether the ones I savor of loving arms in a melancholy hunger of sun in a Holy caged fog.
Conciseness in poetry is beautiful to see—after all, its purpose is to distill ideas to their most raw forms. Nice poem!
Deborah- I love this particular part of the poem: "
I savor
of loving
arms in
a melancholy"
Beautifully said. Loving arms to me conjure up so many deeper references. And its absence makes the savoring all the more a longing.