4/23/2003 - 10:15
Oh, fiery beacon breaking the sun-sweet plains.
Wash me in truth and purge the away mist low in my heart.
Great majestic distance be my honour and my brother,
against her spaces set pillows of peace and blankets of bounty.
Oh, beauty fresh and tangible and boundless burn the fog from my soul-
and land me rested, from labor, in creases folded; yet out of reach.
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