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Christmas Eve · Ririro.com - Poetry

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  Speaker 1: Christmas Eve, straight through a fold of purple mist. The
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  Speaker 1: sun goes down a crimson wheel, and like an opal
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  Speaker 1: burns the sea that once was cold as steel, with
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  Speaker 1: pomp of purple, gold and red. Thou wilt come back
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  Speaker 1: at Morrow's dawn. But thou canst never bring o sun
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  Speaker 1: the Christmas that is gone,