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Whispered by bulrushes

Then, after days of dragonflies sun prismed through, after rain like silver food fed our sered plain, after bullfrogs honed their wise myths on our tongues, after moon and stars spoke silken light, and we thought gentle dailyness would be our lulled and pleasant lot, a tune of reeds plucked by anxious hands wove destiny to drama. Our bones played lullabies, contained small tones against a Pharaoh's death commands. Near, on a sunsplashed bank a sister kept

her brother, while safe within our shoals he slept.

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