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I
Morning
Through the purple haze
Heralded by the rush of wings,
First slivers of dawn
Pierce the high rise towers
Across the bay.
Thunder reverberates
In short staccato bursts
From a solitary plane overhead.
The ghosts of the past
Rise once again,
Brush my face
With the tentacles of another time,
Castles and battlements
Gay marquees with pennants unfurled,
Horses paw the turf in martial dress
To the muted sound of trumpets
In the distance.
Jack Mashman
1982 |
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