Sundays

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And the milk was served
And the pen was full
And the fog was mist
And the wind was cool

And the lips were moist
And the men were out
And the sky was pink
And the mail was bare

And the field was wet
And the sun was rising.

The mix of flowering
Blankets of tenderness,
Of care,
Of infants,
Of moderation and indifference.
And the sky mirrored
The water.





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