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Night Sky

Pray take me to that shimmering place,
Where the silken tributaries part,
So I might see his bright, starlit face,
And hear the beat of his bloodless heart.
He holds in his hands the waxing moon,
And stores in his eyes the waning light,
Glimmering to an immortal tune,
Like heavenly hues of tanzanite.
A lovely, silvery-purple sheen,
One of gossamer wings and beach glass,
Spills down to lush, grassy moors of green,
Until rises a sphere of bright brass.



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