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MARY WALKER
Poetry for your essential self
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Spells

 

In the valley a deer is roaring
too late in the morning to not be seen.
Without thinking 
I press my finger to my lips
to cast an invisible cloak over it,
the way I cast spells 
over each tall tree still standing
and my children
while they sleep.

 
PoetryMary Walker25 October 2019deer, walks, morning, children, motherhoodComment
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