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The Meadow Spring

by Andrew Brenza

I bathed in the meadow spring
To drown in its liquid song
The sorrows living brings
The failures and the wrongs

And though the spring ran fresh
Out of its onyx throat
Over my troubled flesh
A numbed and numbing goad

An unending coldness things
No less than nothing bear
I couldn’t breathe but sing
In protest a feeble tepid air


Copyright © 2026 by Andrew Brenza

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