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A Dream at Noon
Of what shall it be told?
This midday dream,
That glides to place on hold;
And bodies forth its form like a stream
And yet in this film, the twelve obstacles
Could not hold
When in strength Hercules triumph
But not on a platter of gold
I see, and though through a glass
Thrilling scenes
That then make crass
Like two days between twins
Every hour encapsulates terror
But against all odds awoke I
Running to behold me in a mirror
Whether or not I did cry
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