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Heavens torment
O†Morn can open a Violet
Like a book of hearts
Chapters ultraviolet
Coarse and converse
In tales of beaux arts
O†sees my lady immerse
Her delicate soul thereof
In a woodland flower bent
Over her dust jackets of love
O†sees the stars disperse
Their dewy cobwebbed scent
O†sees her as my curse
Heavens torment.
poem
by
Mark Heathcote
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