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O, Lady

O, Lady!
Hard as barnacles
That block the silver skin
Of a Swan Boat
That sails errantly
Upon the Sea of Din
You are the Wave
That lifts that boat
Or sinks it in the mire
You are its ruby eyes that dim
Or flare with bright desire.

I cannot tell,
I cannot tell,
The reason
Why you go,
I’ll grip the rails
And furl the sails
And dumbly watch the snow.

Copyright © Andrew Fairchild

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