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A young woman

of modest bosom

a child really

snatched from the nest


After our first

and only child

she burst forth

great milky nippled orbs


I feared she might smother

my son, or myself

so frightful the bounty

that I went seeking


A shallow valley

where I could hear

and think without echo

sweet sounds of spring


Of birds and bees

soft breezy whispers

wafting through

more negotiable terrain

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