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WILLOWING WISP
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BUT DAD, HE'S A POET
In the heat of the night I ponder
the depths of your soul lain so near
In all these years I did not wander
to where I find your heart so dear
and in the willowing wisp of night
the stars scatter across the night sky
fingers of moonlight dance in my sight
the chilly air blows before my eye
I do not hesitate to ask thee
when the spirits did choose to bless
thee with all the splendors of the sea
and the answers; the key to this mess
