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Look at this metal platter My head is served up on it Eyes blinded by the sun The consummate reflection Of so many skies When you were wondering, Are these real? They are, and you were swimming, And I was under water unafraid Water and me were one The grains between my fingers So well matched they traced The lines as well as any Gypsy-foreteller, but alack, Left whisperings of fate to Curl up on the wind To this seashore medley. |