The moonrise on the cheek of snow.Words that charm me while I sleep.When I get up, what do I know?The meaning's gone. No residue.Instead there's traffic, shoveling, boots.The moonrise on the cheek of snowelopes with me. Or wants to.At ten, I don't indulge it. No,I shush it. And at noon there's nodark force on earth could make me go.The moonrise on the cheek of snowknows what it wants: its way with me.Finally, at dusk, I fall asleepand what wild peace, to feel it grow,this child, this song whose father isThe moonrise on the cheek of snow.
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