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sorry poem

there is an hour of peaceful rest
to come so soon to this imagined dark
sun stepped down from his golden throne
lo! 'tis a gala night
the pale day drowses on the western steep
arched the flood
i saw the clouds among the hills
i hold your heart
like eagles on up high
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
i am fevered
calm as that second summer
in all things not spoken of

 



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