Like that hut, beside low tide, eighteen eighty one,

Like that hut
Beside low low tide
lets go settle,
By that yellowish golden orange,
Go lets settle,
Perhaps there,
Under the sky open and bare,
We could catch our pure,
Our existence closer,
Our infinite,
And perhaps our nights
Like this ,
Full of cool autumnal mind,
Which only beauty finds,
And finds God,

Like that hut,
Beside low low tide,
Lets go settle,
There under the sky bare,
By that nightly gleam,
Go lets dream,
Perhaps there,
We could fine tune our violined times,
Our rising so sublime,
Our blessed alone,
Seperate,
Like heavenly state,
And perhaps there
Claude  Monet
Would drown us
By his canvas so large,
Old one, antiquity,
There we could tie our piety,
Our seperate,
Our fates.

(Note: on a painting, by Claude Monet, 1881, interfused by mind and time, mine, )

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