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I saw a bride splendid in white garmentsI saw a woman with one hundred children The children plump and firm within her arms,
'Why do you run?' I asked the river,'So fast I can't compete.''I run,' the river said, 'becauseI have some streams to meet.'
Spring is baby,bright, fresh and new,gurgling with the melting snow,singing with the first cuckoo.
At dawn, she climbs over the horizonto slink between the curtainsand rest her head on your pillow.
Which can be brushed out long and fineto lie across a pillowor bunched and scrunched into an angryknot of rain before it is undone, when long hanks of it hang
The sea lays big glass hands on the sand,spreading its fingers out as if newto the shore. It can’t quite believe in it.It wants to hold on before the glass breaks.