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Monday, July 17, 2006

He sat by the lake,
Listening to its resonant silence.
The chattering rain mocked him.
The wind, not less funny.

But this is my place-
Mock me all you like!

He glimpsed the mysteries of the lake,
And its profound beckoning.

The gloom of the setting sun
Lighting up the waves,
Like the shimmer of silken pall,
Means nothing.

This lake,I know
And this lake knows me

Why are you calling me so early.
It is not yet time
 
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