Two Poems by Matthew Buckley Smith BY AND BY What falls on us familiar at the end And blankets even the daylight in a blur That neither fog nor cricket come to friend Is not the night, although...
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Late Aubade i.m. Jane Pepperdene When buried spring, in morning, wakes again all winter's dreamless night has let remain, songbirds, returning north, will map in song a heaven crows have haunted...
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