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Aubade

 

Leave me, dawn!  I'm in wretched fettle.

I swear I'm made of some base metal,

           zinc, say, or lead.

           I'll stay in bed.

 

           I'm too sad-souled

           for the day's gold,

too lowdown, and my taste too bitter.

So bug off, daylight, keep your glitter.

 

Richard Moore

 

 

From No More Bottom, Orchises Press, 1991.

Originally printed in Light Year '88/89.
Reprinted by permission of the author.

Background by
Jan's Place


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