a castoff from a distant land
conspired with night and poetry
composing darkness and the dawn
the weaving of eternity
but in the dismal hush of night
or in the blush of early morn
he heard no answer in reply
no solace for his bitter scorn
he truly wished to sort it out
divining blind infinity
to know the truth of stars at last
in seeking out their mimicry
his work fell short of grand desire
when he at last was laid to rest
returning to his primal home
his litany had failed its test
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