If I call this poem that, I have as new
A pattern of three words to learn as you
Have everything. The day you get the gist
Of what is becoming you'll have missed
The point you were. Then you'll have reached the stage
You stay at, insofar as every age
In writing is a step along a shelf
Where words are stowed and weather like a self.
The height is dizzy but it stays the same
And the ladder gets you there when you make a name
Of something I keep calling you. That date
We won't forget to celebrate,
Like rain we needed after a long spell
Of what was blissful but incredible
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