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Caller

By Rob S. Rice

A centauress once came to call
As I lay lost in distant dreams
I heard her hoofsteps in my hall,
I went to greet my lady guest
And left off all my thoughts and schemes.

We talked of little, and of much,
Of things that were, and things we could
Hope to make real, someday, and touch
We drank, and took a minute's rest,
And thought each other's ideas good.

One's mind may roam, with guests at home
One really should be more polite.
I saw her hand move toward a comb
I bowed, and wished her all the best,
And let her go into the night.

And so some beauty came my way
And lingered for a pleasant hour
And when I find my colors gray,
I can cheer up, although depressed
And think of her-such dreams have power.
To the author of The Kentauride, for whom I had harshness, and sympathy...
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Submitted on
October 3, 2014
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