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Sing to me, night, and I shall remember
The days of ancient peril and visions,
Of starlit evenings in the springtime,
Reserved for endless dreaming.
Sing to me, spirit nocturnal, and I awake
Nostalgically and reminisce of laughter
And things passed by the kind hands,
Of a joyous summer of lights
And high winds sing to me on drafts
Of the odyssey of the mind of God,
In which all visionaries rest in hopes
That become sturdy realities…

Our harmony is sung by angels.