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teen poetry

she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
a pen of steel
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
with joy and wonder
she must go back, she said
leave the lovely words unsaid
the light withdrawn
love has been sung a thousand ways
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
in and of itself
in new york harbor

 



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