IFONLY
tid sah (Tom Atlee),  1969

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of frost-pursed acres
the fern-cracked woods
     in the sun now silver
hiding in the northern bakery
     of cold whirling toward
the fern-cracked woods
     in the sun now silver
caging the sealed sins

for the new comers
who rub the pharaohs crystals
     into cones
placing by that sepulchre
     their seed-omega offering
among the tarnished rocks
     and lips of bone
in the moss a fern