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S R Mats
Poems
Mar 2015
The Infant Night
Sun burns away the day, Night is born,
Wrapped in blankets of clouds, handsome lad.
Tell the stars that I am jealous of the moon,
For with the dying of each new day;
Crystal orb with swaddling of mist and light,
Nursemaid that she is-
She attends, O precious delight,
The infant Night!
This is an old poem of mine.
#sun
#moon
#stars
#day
#night
#light
#celestial
#orb
#swaddling
#nursemaid
Written by
S R Mats
F/Houston, TX
(F/Houston, TX)
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