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Selection 11 of

In the Pub

by Nancy Clark
Eyes bright, this man of Ireland plays
His pipe, warm melody afrolic,
Notes as quick and sweet
As carbonated yellow butterflies.

Eyes closed, he pipes, a voice in pain
That surges from the centuries
And echoes in the glens, sad tones
That wilt like sighs from trampled roses.


Selection 11 of

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Copyright © 2000 by Nancy Clark. All rights reserved.