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A Year of Poetry – Day 123

Every verse is a child of love,
A destitute bastard slip,
A firstling -- the winds above --
Left by the road asleep.
Heart has a gulf, and a bridge,
Heart has a bless, and a grief.
Who is his father? A liege?
Maybe a liege, or a thief.

-- Marina Tsvetaeva, Every Verse Is A Child Of Love
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