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son poem

this ancient silver bowl of mine
i know not where
i have heard them in the night
at dawn, he said
happiness
i love to steal awhile away
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
now that i have cooled to you
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
i reside at table mountain
sad are they who know not love
i think it just splendid
why so sad my lovely one?

 



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