To Wake to Keats

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To wake on a cold, dismal Autumn night

     Glum and forlorn; a coffin filled with grief

The pink of mine cheeks did refuse to stay 

Rose blush of love- lost to a wretched theif

Help me ned thes cursèd dreamswith every answer spoken- written sweet

Like staring into the beady night sky

      or seeing the ocean for the first time   

Ah, John Keats, whose words pull out my very sighs

A mysterious poet with verse sublime

Wild-eyed solemn lover of the darkness

Noble reminder of true beauty's bane

Broken-hearted father of heavy conscience

         with passion and love he cannot contain.  

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