IN THE MIST OF MORNING
on the remote mystic dale, night waning,
the thin clouds are floating near
the horizon, I've seen you
many times there,
like the wet
rose,
with eager eye, for a sun beam, between
the trembling pedicle of emotion,
in the soft rustle of morning
wind, spread the aroma
of your body, rising
somewhere
in the fog; realism of dream, love is
knocking the door of heart,
again, life has
recovered
from the experience of nightmare - - - - - -
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