Let there be no throbbing

Let evening be tranquil time
Not shaking with throbbing.

An eye white darkens the sky
As quick as a noontide went.

Noontide’s silly thing throbs,
Shaking a wasted body thin.

V-birds come and go a night.
Orange will soon be a bleak.

West hills will be vanquished
By that overwhelming night.

( Remembering Thomas Hardy’s poem I look Into My Glass)

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