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Her Batlike Wings Pulsing Malignantly
The nectar of youth from which the hummingbirds fed
In the joyful sweetness of their morning flights
Now sullies and sours the afternoon hours
Through bitter infestations and corruptions
Its former clarity corrupted now
Trapped in a tube of stagnation and rot
And scavenged by a malevolent wasp
Her batlike wings pulsing malignantly
But there is always hope: new songs, new words
In the morning’s return of sweet hummingbirds
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