drawn

Lines drawn
    Upon his face,
  Like pines that chase
        The fawn:
    A race to dawn,
        For sun in haste,
    All save the songless swan;
  To undrape her lace,
        On hunters gone,
    Unto her face
      The blinds
Are drawn.

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    Poetry: Barnacle
        https://windstrewn.com/2017/10/02/barnacle/