Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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who was there in the face of bountiful water?
And in whose name was the truth sold
Pawned gold bowed and organized in a somewhat garden?
Were there eyes drinking the order of the day?
Where is that island of godless song and law
And when does the bridge to summer suddenly appear?
Hope around singing in this most excellent absence
This fair animal daughter, she what leaves off at profound release,
She becomes a lion at the first drink of beauty
And she knows where to find the rocks
The ones that will take us across the shiny sea.