A silent leaf speaks to me, of you
A narrow lane, and a river through dusk;
I was a bystander once, today and tomorrow.
Like the waves a punt gives birth to
In the calm, beaky strokes of morning,
Dew-drop's existence on the leaf of sorrow.
I wish I were a bookshelf, even if hollow
The wood's on rent, if only you'd followed ...
And I've lost the time I needed to borrow.
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