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unto the path, i walk. yonder the sun, i stalk. toddler the age, this Fawn. whose rays i watch, play dawn. no other time, can i see. lines of measure, melody. the light can i, catch on? arresting muze, her Song. upon the place, She sang. fail the light in, this Fane. lines of measure, now gone. never to be caught, nor heard. continue i, along. ::: we are all blades of grass, whose sorrows we each carry on our sleeve in a monadic drop of dew; we wait, all of us, for Dawn to expel our sorrows--- to abolish them into the atmosphere of the ether; to let our purified essence makes us, again, stand faithfully as a field of green feathers. ::: there was two parishioners who stood among the crowd. no different than any other, no more outstanding than the next. there was music saturation and hymn naturalization and the followers' infatuation. all beautiful, all in a day's Work....