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                       Your ghost whispers
                       through the bars:
                       as I contemplate
                       the mortality of stars,
                       compare it to my own.
                       Hush, yes, child,
                       I agree.
                       Demand the end
                       of speculation
                       better left alone.
                       These flights of semblance
                       steal breath and dreaming
                       while slipping past
                       this prison stone.
                       The clever thieves,
                       I could give chase.
                       But you say:
                       Hush, my father.
                       Let them go.
                       Yes, child, ghost,
                       The night is partisan, I know.
                       Let the stars weep for themselves
                       and I will hush.
                       Better I should let them go.

                      (c)Michael Stephens

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