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347

When Night is almost done—
And Sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the Spaces—
It's time to smooth the Hair—

And get the Dimples ready—
And wonder we could care
For that old—faded Midnight—
That frightened—but an Hour—

Added: 19 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 4 Sep 2026 12:37 AM | Viewed: 10382 times

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