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All English Sonnets


Nuances of promptings of the mind,
When put to words result in poetry.
The rustlings of the movements of a wind,
Are never heard before they hit a tree.

The leavings of a painful eagerness,
The gleanings of a over burdened life,
Can never ever earnestly express,
The simmering heat of feeling that is rife,

But eagerness which at its very crest,
Impregnates the virgin core of silence,
Enables eager heart in every breast,
To comprehend the ever present cadence,

In life’s every moment unpretending.
The poetry of the heart is unending.

( Devine and eternal and unending.)

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