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Leaving the Bed

And what shall we do

and whom shall we tell

when we do it and when

ever might we return

from the doing and the telling?

And why must we go and do

why must we ever leave

the poufs and puffs of pillows

the piles of down and feathers

the coze and careless comfort

of cotton silk and flannel

of tea and toast of the Lovely Sun

pressing against windows

wanting only to please come in

spread her skirts over the small

house and touch us gently with her

slender fingers?

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