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Final Draft 250 Out of the deeps rise the days, climb dawns and peak noons Over dry fields dragging or drenched seabeds, Over boughs bearing fertile buds and flowers; Out comes the star-doggèd sun, a scent of the moon Over fish, gulls flocking and flying seabound, Over shoreside sheep and shepherds alike. On the rest, rain falls ruin for the evening; Daylong drifting drowns in the nighttime, Sinks to the seabed, stifled and constant; No shifting to shore but towards shallows of death. When all is authored, what aches to be writ But the death of the deity who drafted it? 0 Comments.
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