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Sing! and rise up!
There is a song you can sing,
a wild racing chorus to a thing you know
nothing of
Simple, elegant, but with an ancient rhythm
And the face, oh, the face
appears to me, in a timeless, endless vision
of immortal beauty and rigid firmness;
it has the countenance of the Holy
The Blessed
I sing with words I do not know
And a beat of which I only dream
My soul bleeds for this moment,
the music enchanting me
and the heart for which I spill my life.
I tear the frailty of life from me,
and I see in my arms the face of an angel.
And as she drifts to other places,
her crib seems so warm, that
I sleep in the chair beside it.

Devon Hart
A Song To An Angel

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