Close
Close your eyes
Bleeding in
The Mirror the Dust
There was in
Graves
The Dust.
Mooring
Mooring under
The pilot waves of
The hard sun
The day id drear
Though
Not
With frowning clouds
Lemon tasting
And acerb
The motor of the day
Drives
Passes by
Shadows and trees
And roads
And buildings in the day
My Monsignor
The day be drear
Today
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