For friends become lovers of the Earth, each weighing by lot the the pocket of ther father..and dawn twilight, far off tides face the east. And roll-in with nature and wind and creeks running beneath the shade of dawn. Rows lying planted in neat order and fields in dress of the bees on course, to the purple and the red and the stems of trees are sweet. To the birds and flowers in solid Earth. Lengthwise resting. Now the conscious of meaning lies other forms that count age. Alone, fair at a wooden door, rock and distorts the mirror is this face, this rolled mime over bone. To pledge what cannot sooth or find the means to. On satisfaction for whatever was contracted by oath. To much about less, the other courts. Demands to swell others would be fair with age. My own in its sun and a heart at night and a moon; had I but the eyes to the day.. .
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