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'NIGHT'

By Deb

Moon trails her skirts along furrows
she carved into the sea
Air parts her curls, shaking tresses free
for gliders to hang from
Earth breathes softly, her gentle snores
cradle the world in sleep
Night hands her friendship to saucer eyes
diving upon squealing warriors
Morning is still on leave from her work
beginning on the horizen of tomorrow

deb December 1999

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