WILLOWING WISP

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TROUBADOR'S CHOICE

 

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

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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