Song

Let the morning pursue me
with the wind that senses her body.
Let the clouds carry my message.
Then might she yield.
 
Lying in the constellation of The Bear,
have pity, gazelle, on him who must fly
to the stars to reach you.

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"Song" Poetry.net. STANDS4 LLC, 2019. Web. 17 Nov. 2019. <https://www.poetry.net/poem/42529/song>.

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