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prose poetry

sweet splendor
come down at dawn from windless hills
long ago, in the young moonlight
days endeared to every muse
with the sunset
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
they may talk of love in a cottage
i walk down the garden paths
i cannot always feel his greatness
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
love has been sung a thousand ways

 



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