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Every word a seed within his work of love,
measured, counted, sorted, the poet’s hand aglove.
The knife remains his tool excising good and foe;
a ploy perhaps to wield and salve a lover’s woe.

(I just thought I might point a few of my followers to this friend of mine who maintains a couple of blogs, Sabio Lantz.

His two blogs are Fields of Yúan (poetry) and Triangulations (other thoughts and musings) )