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How somber-thick the fog would be,
if we could not catch rainbow notes
and set a song of fancy free.
From wistful throats, let voices swell
to cleave the deepest shade of grey,
reveal what mystic secrets tell.
Let wonder pour its golden taste
through always-striving, nine-to-fiving
corridors of concrete haste.
Awaken senses! Lift the shroud
of habits, long embedded. Breathe!
And come where soaring's still allowed.
03/31/02
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