and a lot of meteors and meters run
and deaths that are slow but sudden, asleep
at home or hospital, left alone to lay
before we could whisper g'night.
This is season, this is hard, this
is our low, the grass less green.
But we feel buds a-coming and there
were roots before, so
the month of two moons and low
lights and less delights and death -
g'night soon to you. We feel
you a-slipping into the sip of timber.
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