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The Day The Poet Swore

How much she knew, the woman of words.

Latin and grammar, her voice high, full of laughter, culture

in a drear room of smiles and nods, stiff-back chairs.

She read and walked, pale eyes searching.

And she warned a poem had a naughty word,

and read it out aloud anyway, giving that word

a guttural push, and it leapt from her beautiful mouth

and sailed,  ripe and rich, to settle on delicate minds.

No one said a word, though one lady gave a little shudder


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