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By Godfrey John / August 17, 1992



like bells in the voice of the wood thrush, like hope in the woof of the loom, like paragraphs of morning - the white poem of your name; like lost among moon shadows, like dreams of dew-fall hooves, like elms that take back wingings - the beckoning of your leaves; like late light dusting eyelids, like feathers in a song, like runes of reeds in evenings - your absence whispering; like sighs in a noon-deep echo, like peace on a sail-sown sea, like soft as the bee-culled pollen - your coming home to me....

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