Fountain
(c) 2014 A.L.S. Vossler
Words bubble and flow from the nib,
Spout and cascade onto blank serene page;
Where, frothing and rippling, they sing
Sweet bold rushing music in phrases and rests.
Broken, the glistening surface now gurgles—
Turbulent, still; turbulent, still—
And meaning’s fine mist gently does drift
Away on the breeze of perception.
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