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Mary, mother, blue as a gun
sail in shoes of bread
slake the blue peter
slake the drought
of Homer's wine dark sea
in ceaseless rosemary.

Mary, mother of all blues
give us the gift of screws,
the attar of needles,
bodkins not yet dreamt of
in Horatian philosophy.

Mary, mother indigo
pour for us the waters of Hungry
Ophelia took as cure,
the dew of Ourano’s dew,
bottled balm of Fierabras.

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#poetry #blue #blues