No More Seconds Can Your Hour Contain

When she swears, it's by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Whippoorwill rises and mourns for Tuesday
Even grandfather will scuff his heels
Shearing her cozening god by the bells
"Victory! Victory!" stymied in dark sugar glaze
Millions of French kisses, in a box, centers ablaze
Doesn't the darned hem draw its own candlelit raise?

The End

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