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Starry Night
Rolling hills flow with the tide
Of the sky which holds
The gleaming moon and its distant
Cousins.
Whirling, the cypress tree overshadows
Not even the steeple of the church does
reach as high.
Surrounded by a quiet village,
Light not as omniscient as the
Calling of the skies.
Beneath the cold of the crescent moon.
Murmurs of azure and goldenrod
Flood the earth as times change
To another day as the sky comes out.

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