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Tonight when the ghostly moon
climbs over scented shrubs of the pale jasmine
and a single sigh of a breeze
stealthily knifes my memory -
as though it were your curved smile.
Write me a poem then
without the brilliance of your crimson silk
of the rain-hungry days of
summer's youth.
O please gently wrap me
in your poem,with the tenderness
of a girl who changes
to a woman
one August night.
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Poetry: Moon glow
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