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these sweat’d flakes of ice

these sweat’d flakes of ice fall prey to finger’s tidyngs,
making art in art so clear,
pushing from place ’til image nears
and fallen these eyes become,
as relenting thought’s forcings
break ‘part the ‘cicles,
paving way for unpump’d heart
in journey from fill’d to froze to molten start.

there was an attic
with these whisper-wing'ed words i find

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