The Right Angle.
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Weared off my days toil
I hardly can get myself to be refreshed
without any hope or desire for the nights dream
I lay down on my bed
when the clock indicates the right angle
with a sweet music and melodious voice
whispering in my ears
saying me on a sleep
listening the charms of life
I find my self life is not a quite desire
hopes are all in fragmented posture
I adhere myself to life again
to be ready for tomorrow's wain.
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