Circles
Inside the circle
Where we played as children
Careless of moon and tide
I stand alone
Savant of the starry heaven
Pursued by a disenchanted bride
The rosy moon
Her lilly white nakedness, a breast
Upon the wet and naked grass
The stars in ruin
And of the storm I have no love less
The sublime moment cannot pass
Outside the circle
The wounded hawk circles still
Aroows of the moon are made from quill
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