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by Mary Brunini McArdle

I wish that you would come to me.
Don’t fret about the midnight hour –
That’s an old story we’ve been told;
I don’t believe it now.

So soon the advent of July!
We’re at the mercy of its whims;
Tomorrow is Midsummer’s Eve –
But will you love me then?

Copyright © 2007 by Mary Brunini McArdle

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