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Until the birds can't lift,
From Heaven's drift,
Or a silk worms cocoon,
Won't accept beams of moon,
Taking a tune,
Of life's exalted gift,
I'll always free your souls.
Not a second afterward
A sly wave recoils inward,
From mandatory ways,
How a beating plays,
Under sea's glacé rays,
Mother Natures tampered.
I'll cusp the depths of offal.
After droplets demur,
Descending towards safe arbor,
And to nightingales their,
Song is found stark bare,
Flown to remote lands where,
God be the carver,
I'll see to your every care.
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