Sunday, 9 December 2018



The gale has finally blown passed at last;
though the morning star appears unmoved.
The doors flew bang and flew bang fast,
and saw the last vestiges of sleep removed.
Upon the sea the tall ship’s metronome mast
is spooning to the dawn drawn down betrothed;

so rest now my gentle one, for it has passed,
and all is quiet again in the vale of dreams;
for nothing e’er be bad as seems;
see now the pastures are verdant grassed;
and see how the wind in their tresses eases,
as you drift away on the breath of breezes;
and i will regale of the times of times
where the morning star was once removed 
by the rhyme of rhymes and by these rhymes
was the gale fast felled and fallen fast to sleep.

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