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Baby Face

 WHITE MOON comes in on a baby face.
The shafts across her bed are flimmering.
Out on the land White Moon shines, Shines and glimmers against gnarled shadows, All silver to slow twisted shadows Falling across the long road that runs from the house.
Keep a little of your beauty And some of your flimmering silver For her by the window to-night Where you come in, White Moon.

by Carl Sandburg
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