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Dusk On Mustique

Felix Dennis
March 5, 2014
Mandalay, Mustique
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The bats are out, the moon is on her back,
The failing light is swallowing the sea,
I need no calender or almanac
To calculate what nights are left to me.

Tree frogs call, the wind is whispering, ‘Soon,
Like lost horizons blurring land and sky,
An endless night will clothe this wanton moon—
Far, far away, beneath strange trees you’ll lie.’