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THE MOON, AS SEEN THROUGH A PINE BOUGH
Silver are the strands of the cobweb that weaves A halo through the silken leaves. Gaping, the ice-hole cracks in clefts; In ever-spiraling rights and lefts. I know somewhere on backseat roads, Passion is passed in green-eyed droves. I bow and smile thoughtfully, For this pendulum of antiquity has me.
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...of course, I could be wrong. |
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