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The Gypsy Moth is Gone


Soft and sweet the breath of life,
The ebb tides of emotions.
Finality of toil and strife
The gentle peaceful oceans.

Newborn rays of the living sun,
Filled with cornucopia collections.
A youthful spirit full of fun,
Dispite the logic of confusion.

Strive to keep the soul above,
The turmoil of the frightful.
Endeavoring for an unknown love,
Fateful the coming of nightfall.

Out of darkness we all come,
Success a goal to achieve.
Not for all, just for some,
Till it's time to leave.

None will know when it's time,
Falling, falling, free fall flight.
Staccato music, rhythm and rhyme,
As souls drift into the night.

A perplexed ascension or decent,
From the light into the darkness.
Energy gone, all is spent,
Either, or, none will confess.

A speckle of dingy dust,
Cluttering the silver bone.
Gone, forgotten, fate you trust,
The Gypsy moth is gone.

by Fred Guymon, November 4, 1996



Fred W. Guymon
2519 Williams Grant
Sugar Land, TX 77479

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