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Lover's Lullaby

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Don't rest your head so soon, my Love--
the night is not half ripe!
Don't let your eyelids fall, my Love--
I'll try to sing a lullaby.

Stars burn restless
against spent ember,
so pull your chin to the clouds, my Love,
and I will sing you songs of December

Don't dream of me, my sweetest Love,
but kiss my moonlit cheeks;
we can waltz the Blue Danube--
I'll sing a song with a three-beat tune.

August is your chest, my Love,
and bare ankles entangled in sheets
are November's gentle grasp, my Love
under salmon skies I'll sing you to sleep.

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