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prose poetry

lady, your heart has turned to dust
with her hair flaying wildly
love me at last, or if you will not
the arches of the red bridge
listen to the sounding sea
hang no wreath
when, full of warm and eager love
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
within my hand i hold
let me be sad
uplifting, as the wind blew
high walls and huge

 



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