Let in your fist in your pocket
The veiled face of the dark
Voice of the creeping monster
And punch no more my panting breath
...
Mute your cracking cacaphonies
These gentle idiots of the night
The toothless crickets
And keep to the melodies of mine
...
Wash not my secret sins
With your dark palms
And flying threats
Let me sit,o the old owl
At the head of my granny
Under her guardian elm
And sing to her silent soul
The songs to me willed
To atone her perfect wish.
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