Kim Ki-Rim


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The sunray's myriad fingers now
have drawn with haste the sable velvet curtain of night.
And in the window stands my naked daffodil.
(O young madonna), bathing in the fountain of light.
Beloved! Last night
I did unfold to read in secrecy
my past year's crumpled littered memory.

Stroking the cold stiff back of Hope,
I called in whispers to stir from its sepulchral sleep
within my breast, and mount on its borken wings.

But now, beloved, is the morn returned.
Pray quickly open wide my sick-room door.
Do you not see the fleecy clouds
running like colts above the azure vault?

Let's to the lawn and wash in the sunbeam fountain our wounded wings
and tightening ourselved like leopards or eagles.
Swoop, as the wind, on this dull season crouching at our heels.

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