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Apr 2017
The birds are singing in their sleep
And my brain paints its fevered dreams
Amidst the stars; and my heart starts
And asks if ships, seen from above,
With their lights on, form constellations;
Did someone ever tell the moon
Her light is merely a reflection?
lenore
Written by
lenore
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   ---, Mack, PoetryJournal and Autumn Rose
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