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baby poem

we lay
i have heard them in the night
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
as evening falls
i am old and blind
do the boys and girls still go
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
the pale day drowses on the western steep
in his guarded tent
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
she was a beauty in the days
some one complained to the master
this is the song of youth

 



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