We Should Be Content In Our White Linen Beds
We should be content in our white linen beds,
Dozing as clock hands spin around,
And shadows rise and fall upon the wall.
So what magic is this,
What spell persists to wake us?
The ancient incantation whispering at the keyhole
For 20 years or more.
Not heard until now, as another ordinary day breaks.
Such a light pours through our window this morning,
Not seen or felt before.
Dazzling as it bounces off sleepy faces and falls into our laps.
Won't you dip your hands in the sunshine Julia,
And put them to my face?
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