The worried night will forever bathe the baby day's flow
with those pink mouthed and sore dumb memories
that miracle a better path for those young who know
the most boring secrets. The grasp of the differing
thing does not make enough sense for the sickly.
("To be well and to be free as the naked need be.")
I spell her with her own vague wicked times
as the dim remembering is caught between the pines.
Feigned glories and upward thrusts are okay
so long as they don't retreat from the tall strict day.
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