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The smell of spring is sweet upon the air,

And I will know it well before it goes,

(the faint, damp flower of a loverís hair)

And know it well before the dry dawn shows.

And if I took this whiskey down as fast

As any motherís son could hope to pour,

(she only promised that it wouldnít last)

Iíd still be standing sober by the door

To watch the heady blossom of the moon,

The wild clematis tangled in its light,

(Iíll be sleeping on the job before itís noon)

And what is left of sweetness in the night.


Suzanne Doyle



© 1992 Suzanne J. Doyle.  Used by permission.


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