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about the size of a honeybee. We stared at
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I like my poems. They’re
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Pale moth, that from the moon doth fly,
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the hoop of the world is breaking.
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There is a country to cross you will
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Those you love come at you like lightning,
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as if they know the yellow answer:
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With your silhouette when the sunlight dims
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The scent of her beauty draws me to her place.
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into an evening briefly fuzzy.