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modern poetry

a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
she heard the children playing in the sun
burly, dozing humble-bee
under a spreading chestnut tree
the arches of the red bridge
i saw him once before
one by one, like leaves from a tree
i gazed upon the glorious sky
who is the runner in the skies
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
my son is dead and i am going blind
that strange companion came on shuffling feet

 



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