What Comes Late
P Patti Masterman
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What comes late,
What comes soon
In dreaded syllables
To make us swoon?
What comes never,
But the moon-
Shines far away;
Midnight or noon.
What comes to me,
Then comes to you,
Worn out anew;
Both false and true.
What's in the mirror,
But half of one?
Who breaks apart
When silence come.
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