| Flowers bloom at night and throw off phantom darts of light
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| Living little opal stars and little phantom shimmers
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| A shadow with a watering can crept in to tend the garden
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| The soundless shade made its way as crickets all around
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| Chose their nighttime music and made their nighttime sound
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| Within the grove the shadow flowed and knelt before the moss
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| Shadow water sprinkled on the earthy forest bed
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| The thinnest grin above the trees
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| A secret joke
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| A sliver peeking in through a starry door
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| Shadow water sprinkled soundless on the mossy forest floor
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| Water drawn from a well, secluded on a hill
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| In the summer of the poet’s youth
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| Before he learned the poet’s truth
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| That life will never yield to Will
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| That life will never yield to Will
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| And that watering can held tightly in ghostly hand!
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| Where is it from, where has it been?
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| The shed by the house of the sleeping poet!
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| It sits there still on its shelf!
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| And he dreams in his bed as the moon overhead
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| Sheds light from a silver crescent
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| He dreams of the grove and the mound and the seed
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| It was watered that night with the water of need |