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A day dawning
In fulsome gray
A fool yawning
Before going his way

Trim sure the sails
We’re going away

Shrill the shouting
To augment the hearing
(Under shorn of all standing
And half of the meaning)

Pushing at the bounds
All giving way

Hurried the parting
No longer cleaving
So much the pity
So much the leaving

Reckoning hard
Yet choosing easy

“Could I be wrong?”
The thought never sees me.



About rwoz2

Poet, historian, writer for stage and screen. Responder to Jesus (Romans 5:8)

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