The Writers Voice
The World's
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A People are We
by
Joseph Birnbaum
Sour high and hear the people
Then fall like dew on our hearts
It forms wax, and makes us a seal.
The wind beckons us
A matriarch's call, or the sweet siren.
A gust takes our prayers.
A shepherd, the wind flows.
Coveting our faceless calls.
Our nameless prayers.
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