Yes, a day is merely forever
In memory’s shiningness,
And a year but a gust or a gasp
In the summer’s dying heat of Time, and in that last summer
I was almost ready to learn
What imagination is-it is only
The lie we must learn to live by, if ever
We mean to live at all…
The salt air of sea, and the only sound to our ears
Was the slap and hiss far below, for
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