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1893–1944

CHANGE

Robert Nichols

Behold, the tides are awake! Under the high moon's light, Broad bands of silver, they glitter and quake, Moving out into the night.

Off from the shore they slide, Out, out into the blue: And I am turned to a shimmering tide Flooding on outward to you!

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CHANGE · Robert Nichols · Poetry Cove