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The Bliss of Hamattan I

In rustling sways, the leaves sings the orchestra.
Playing the chords of the dry desert winds..
Herald tunes of humid mist from the savanna.
In myrtle swings of blue..

A chilly gloom of haze grips the dawn.
As mistful hue sets the morn.
A timely chase to the eve of Christmas.
In dusty myriads ashore.

But if the chimes of Christmas songs..
Brings the gifts of santa claus..
Then let the dry winds of Hamattan.
Wipe wanes and toils off course.

In jingles sings the ringing chiming bells.
As dry leaves adorn the ground.
Gleaming forth in homeward bound.
The avalanche movement swells.

Swallowed in drought the thirst sets in.
As water becomes a means.
The fowls at Christmas are bought for kill.
Garnished in wholesome meals.

Happy glee blooms the Christened day.
The birth of the Son of God.
Many in this day are led astray.
Profanity in lust accord.

In sweetened beams chimes the homonyms.
As fireworks adorn the eve.
And many a few are lost in bliss.
Of sacred songs and hymns.

In salient haven of peace.
The dry chills held me calm.
Of sweetened hymns in glorious feast.
The bliss of Hamattan.

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(c) 2012

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