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against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
often i think of the beautiful town
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
i am in love with high far-seeing places
leave the lovely words unsaid
the long resounding marble corridors
rising moon has hid the stars
awful truths these be
i reside at table mountain
from song and dream for ever gone
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
to be able to see every side of every question
braided and woven

 



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