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She is a lone bird wheeling jagged edges
of ancient cliffs above the shallows
of a rough Dover sea.
Her feathers gleam in the beam of
the lighthouse where gentle swells
pulse against rocky shores there in
dreams you held her tenderly like a
She has abandoned the lighthouse
that seems to lean closer to the sea
waiting in vain at the tide swept shore.
The beam has ceased its search for you
still each time she passes she tips her wing.