The Grace Of The Morning - Poem by Patti Masterman
The fragrant taste of the stars matter
There, where the burning leaves and magnolias go up,
To journey to where, in the smoke of their leaving,
The all-knowing oak is trembling above
And the whiter colors, of the brightest stars
Hanging there thick, in shimmering air,
And the roving eye of the colorless sky
Never fades from the grace of the morning.
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