The seas ache their waves ere dawn
Dismayed by telling sunset few,
Grief is sought but nor lingered gone
Nor are there no coral, not even anew;
No, there is but no garbage round,
The tides will sing, but on moon's behest:
My light hither so drop as rain,
Speech I distill as dew to pass,
No yea small on herb this rain,
Till it be rays I say unto grass;
And say then, aghast fraught at me:
My name is Earth, and I am soiled,
Give not a second mate - let be;
For I have breathed and spoiled,
My words now deaf by ears,
Till mutes around see my tears,
Then jest I dance round the sun,
Then none shall hear me run.
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