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In the Middle of Night I Am . . . |
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. . . writing a poem of dawn
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Precipice of midnight is transforming into sea of dawn
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Life is quietly changing itself
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A brush of red is sticking out from the obscure green
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Bringing great joy to the roosters
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Such begins the noise of one day
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Black letters on the white papers are fading
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Just as the sporadic sound of a cricket is lost in the hastening chirps of birds
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In my fantasy, only the sea is the true serenity of the earth
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In my fantasy, only the sea is tIt heroically plays
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With the few pieces left on the chess board who are battling to death
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Yet always ending in
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Yet always ending in a draw
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July 29, 1995
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Copyright © 2005 Godavaya LLC
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