Abandoned Sundays (From, Illuminating Night)
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Peter S. Quinn
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Abandoned Sundays,
Gone into the oblivion;
With refined absurdities,
My concealed aesopian.
Playing through a heart,
With a spiritual strife;
Cobbling thoughtful impart,
That makes up new life.
Going to a Monday,
With a full new beginning;
Past a root of absurdity,
That was before singing.
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