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Anchors Aweigh

What a thing to love what may never be touched
for she is to me as the Southern Cross to the sailor
Known to the eyes and real to the soul
A beacon in darkness and guide for my heart
As the sailor prays the darkened clouds will clear
their misty veil drawn from the midnight sky
So do I, that she will appear one day before me
not merely illusion nor thought
but flesh and blood, to reach out and touch

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