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sad poem

be in me as the eternal moods
i do not pray for peace
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
gone are the three, those sisters rare
are you awake?
there are gains for all our losses
he'd even have his joke
look out upon the stars, my love
one by one, like leaves from a tree
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
there is a city, builded by no hand

 



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