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By John I. Blair

For me the Milky Way
And songs of wooden birds

Before I was grown
I spent a quiet weekend
At a country house
Where the long hall held
An old and ornate clock,
Crusted with cunning carvings.

After supper, late,
To clear my nose of gravy fumes,
I walked out in the black night
And there beheld a glowing net
Thrown from one horizon to the other
That had been hidden
From my city-blinded eyes.

I froze for half an hour,
Dreaming a dream of stars and cold,
Then came back to cacophonies
Of gongs and cuckoo calls.

2009 John I. Blair

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