The moon

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The moon

The summer passed so fast

I thought you and I would never last

You told me our memories won’t be just a blast

Ever was I the one to doubt our past.

 

Clouds were soon hiding the sun

The difficult hadn’t even yet begun

I saw your shadow everywhere I went

I guess that’s just how much you meant.

 

But even in the darkest hour

The moon was there-a source of power

And each look made you feel so near

A dream to chase the presence of my fear…

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Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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