Are you not that Sycamore'd place
Where my thoughts journey and cling?
A familiar voice
In the flutter of silver leaves
And the swell of strings
Is it not you who seeks me out
Sows goodness and holds me dear
Who draws me out
With pen in hand again
With my heart laid there?
It's you
Oh my darling,
its you.
- Its You, Daniel Martin Moore
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