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Mooring Hours

Strange the way of early morning, this stillest silent motion


Mooring hours it veils the day, beyond, a timeless ocean


Neath the dim of graying caste, or painted light and clouds


The harbinger of things to come wrought in skies resound


Verdant plots of earthen ground echo with yesterday


The paths we trod now making clear the overture once played


Bringing forth theme and anthem, assuaging vestige doubt


Memories of pleasure and pain, in measure sounding out


As mercies new at dawn of day, our minds have been at play


Renewed in dreams, transformed by night, meet morning’s silent gaze


A waking sun may oft forget before the sheen of last moon rise


Crescent waning high within a lingering lunar eye


Creatures below the aether there, revel in cycled time


Greeting the day with symphonic sound, a rhythm of new life










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