| In that September off, Isle Aux Morts
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| The desultory sea grew more so through the night
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| And made one think of tawny ports
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| As Aspen trembling in tomorrow’s thorough light
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| And of Tallulah Bankhead and Canada Lee
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| Somewhere far off, peaceful, sleeping, and done with acting
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| Past the Dire Wolf’s Lair on a Newfoundland’s Paws
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| Close to nowhere and half way across
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| But never more here, expanse getting broader
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| Though bigger boats been done by this water
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| Though better boats been done by this water
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| Though better boats been done by less water
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| In that September off, Isle Aux Morts
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| Colourable seas grew more to through the night
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| And made one think of yawning shores
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| Gambier bleached in tomorrow’s thorough light
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| And of Tallulah Bankhead and Canada Lee
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| Somewhere far off, peaceful, sleeping, they learned to love sleep
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| At the Dire Wolf’s Crest, the Newfoundland paused
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| Desolate’s best was gotten across
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| We were never more here, expanse getting broader
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| When better boats been done by this water
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| At the Dire Wolf’s Best, the Newfoundland paused
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| So desperate as to be a lost cause
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| You were never more hear, expanse getting broader
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| When better boats been done by this water
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| Where bigger boats been done by less water
|
| And better boats been done by this water
|
| When bigger boats been done by less water
|
| And better boats been done by this water |