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MONDAY, JULY 04, 2011
A mistresses garden
it lacks the lovers poison
that welts on river buds,
frozen in late November
before the time of youth has grown
like prosperous visions
melting the anchor free,
in the clear waters of purity.
The mistress will stroll the oceans bed
far beneath the sails of golden ships,
rocking back and forth
in the twilight sphere,
the moment will come near,
for the blossoms doom
that will suck up the rain
and in February will bloom

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