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by Jim Moore

I have no voice for this--the soft whimsy tune
That plays for all the cradles,
Rests upon the mothers' lips
As if the night were a song--—
This pocketful of notes flung far from a galaxy
With slumber on its mind,
And slumber in its heart--—
But oh how the weary wander to it.


Posted on 10/17/2007
Copyright © 2022 Jim Moore

Member Comments on this Poem
Posted by Kathleen Wilson on 10/18/07 at 01:54 AM

Really beautiful and unusual, I love the strangeness that soothes, and yet bemuses...

Posted by Gabriel Ricard on 10/18/07 at 03:43 AM

This goes down easy, but that doesn't make it any less compelling. I liked this.

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