Afterglow like an aftershave
sighs away from source
it flies away smooth
It spreads to soothe
Powerful but without force
Grow me a sage from the furtile age
Ruminating in the soil of grace
I say this the light flat to my face
as the sun smarts it's downside race
So the sage grows within me
Unaware, unabashed
He hoards great sights
both heavy and light
Till his spirit settles to ash
Now furtile as first he knew
A sunny sail on tides of dark blue.
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