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Glowing, brazen, bold, yet calm.  Blessed with dust
that works as balm.  Flowing plume sends puffs
alight.  Tales of chill winds taken flight. Sentinels
caked in a season's hue.  Await the break of darkness
true.

Be it cloud or be it rock, to its fine shores we soon
will flock.  Cover green and brown with gleeming skin,
fill in dimples yet conjure grins.  As the frozen line
does now descend, pull our spirit and amend,
a long summer's wait, and our heavy minds.

We chit we chat we dry our eyes; we hike we file all our
plans belie
a bounty that goes yet unclaimed, frigid glory, the same,
yet untamed.

Nameless pathways still await, silent now, yet is our fate,
tied up with those sinews, those variant spaces, to bring
a stinging kiss to firey faces.

Glow fades to horizon, barely white, now moon does bestow
a murky sight.  Where you there at all, monolith of winter?
Or did the thought of you make a spirit splinter,

into divergent halves, each with equal claim, on a life
now split into the waiting game.

Vogon poet
Stage VIII-b

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