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There is an evening coming in
Across the fields, one never seen before,
That lights no lamps.

Silken it seems at a distance, yet
When it is drawn up over the knees and breast
It brings no comfort.

Where has the tree gone, that locked 
Earth to sky? What is under my hands,
That I cannot feel?

What loads my hand down?


Submitted by paul mckenzie

Added: 1 Apr 2002 | Last Read: 21 Nov 2009 4:13 AM | Viewed: 10261 times

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