Wednesday, February 01, 2006

Harvest Ball

To know the hour and minute hence
when time becomes unknown,
to face refined oblivion
and see compassion shown.
You swoon within the cradle of
this bold decrepit knight
who galloped up with grim concern
upon The Steed of White;
entranced by soft discordant strains
as weightlessness ensues
one measure more will free you from
the need for dancing shoes.

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