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In the dawning waking hour he'll lift his head And brush his eyes with gentle strokes That will only blindly mislead him Into the first day of creation Which he can only see in limitation. Now he sits upon his empty bed, His heart is warm, his heart is full and he can see Yet it is impossible for him to retain me For his arms are without form; And he cannot know the word As his mind cries out absurd. Now he's standing inside the doorway,

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