The scythe
For the corn,
Or the cut of shadow
For the moon,
Always trails
With a hand-hold
One mowed
For the hay
The other
For the beloved reap
The sharpness
Of curve
Has an angle fire
Engulfing a kiss
In umbra of life
For the corn,
Or the cut of shadow
For the moon,
Always trails
With a hand-hold
One mowed
For the hay
The other
For the beloved reap
The sharpness
Of curve
Has an angle fire
Engulfing a kiss
In umbra of life
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