The
finder is quite another person
From
those who follow him;
Those
who trail after
Lay
hands on what he has done
Till
the silver catch is pillaged
That
was set apart in wonder.
There
are always those in pursuit
Who
know more . . .
And
as those purple pigeons fly
Race
to take the message home;
For
whether by stealth or right
The
lighted-beauty shall be known.
*
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