I drive it is dark
My advice closes
The tacit reverence
For what I hear
I hear what has become of sleep
Translated close to child
With summer always summer's
Rare park maintained wide green
Ground smells cropped
Who is awake who tastes the cusp
Of night with morning
This hour of our depth
Makes easy lift away of qualms
For night and morning
Sifting difference between a smile
And a shouldered sadness just released
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