shoulder of night . . .
Melody, quivering down the
string on your horns like
restless rivulets from rippling rain-reeds.
Brave harp,
daring the shadow
of clouds - life hanging;
swinging on a dream.
Cascading thoughts,
plump with the visions of night,
moonbeams raising stardust
as the furrows mount the mounds . . .
A bolder strain, yet, sweet lyre
for the sentient seeds;
Break the silence
on the plough . . .
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