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Summer House

A writer’s abode

A writer’s abode • Wordhazard • writers 1

I search the books for words too often,

A wondrous daze, a happy place

A goal to find,

a soul, a mind,

I search to never search again.

I read, I write

Sometimes weep out of fright.

I try to fathom my depths,

my height.

All day I search and search and search,

Observing skies, I’m an eagle on a perch.

But somewhere out there, is a world of my words.

Waiting to be owned,

By unheard voices and faces unknown.


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