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Van Winkle

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With sweet, Chardonnay…
and I your, Van Winkle,
sing me an Aria, little cricket.

My diva of summer nights,
so fragile the music,
as the sky grows so cold.

A shadow comes over the moon,
serendipitous me a placebo,
on untamed grass.

With a thousand bows as if a soprano,
just before the dawn awakens,
my Van Winkles eyes.

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