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On the light of stars, eclipsed by city lights,
it whispers; in the sound of a baby,
taking that first breath to cry,
the brush, of a lover’s lips across
a fevered brow, begins
the angel song;
in the willow’s sigh: triumph
in the lover’s cry: triumph
angels singing: triumph
with the voice of lonely widows
in steely voices, marching
down sorrow’s door and shouting:
triumph! that silences
the canon blast, the siren scream
the engine roar: defeated
by Mary’s exhausted, happy
silence: singing triumph

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