Poems
come to the gate, child;
come to the garden gate.
the ready roses have spoken
and thy amethysts continue fair.
soft fingers and the iron handle
must make much merry music now
for this day has waited patiently
to play the chimes of dawn --
made most perfect by your desire
unlatched and lifted free
lilacs, sage, and rosemary
sent forth in their abundance
this morning's presence painting joy
your color of adornment
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