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Mornings As Riches
only so high roll the sun up the sky
that a guild of mists should profit thereby
that artists among us may train their eye
on those untouched sheaves of gold they so prize
silence between thoughts in the ideal world...
enter the whistle or pip of one bird
frame and magnify the lyrical word
for her plain song purport may yet be learned
bright is the morning, the shadow has passed
...
Sunday 25th November 2018 11:56 am
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