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The stars that open and shut
Fall on my shallow breast
Like stars on a pool.


The soft wind, blowing cool
Laps little crest after crest
Of ripples across my breast.


And dark grass under my feet
Seems to dabble in me
Like grass in a brook.


Oh, and it is sweet
To be all these things, not to be
Any more myself.


For look,
I am weary of myself!