All of us grow old
No escape from it
How does, though, one
Grow young?
This heart beats
As do all hearts
Which can
This tongue speaks
As do all tongues
Which can, in their own tongues
What is heard?
I ruminate all about, but
It is not words
I am trying to say
It is not words
I want you to receive
The message is in the glass bottle
And it floats across to you
Across a sea that
only you may save it from
Find it, but
Try not to make the
form of the bottle
Superior to the
beauty of the message
I want you to taste bread,
Its warmth fresh from the oven
A crust crisp with
sounds of deliciousness
Contentment of your
empty stomach as it
receives baked nourishment
Not lick the iron grey of
The serving platter
I want you to feel the caress
Of soft, full cloth on your skin
Feel its protection of your flesh
From rain,
gale,
hale,
snow
and harsh sun
Not lose to the obsessions of
colours
and shades
and shapes
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