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Dead? not me ©

Bruce Clark Dick
Forfar, Scotland

I'm the incessant babbling, of a happy brook,
I'm the throaty call, of the solitary rook.
I'm the wind that turns pages, in your favourite book,
Dead? not me.

I'm the wild meadow flowers, as they brush by your knees,
I'm the warm summer caress, of a light evening breeze,
I'm the hum of the bumblebee, in pollen laden trees,
Dead? not me.

I'm the pounding of surf, on a lonely beach,
I'm the rosy red apple, just out of reach,
I'm the new puppy dog, you're trying to teach,
Dead? not me.

I'm the sunlight through windows, that plays on your bed,
I'm the tune you can't remember, locked up in your head.
I laugh at my friends, he's gone, they all said.
Dead? not me.

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