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elements of poetry

sleep sweetly in your humble graves
with the meek, brown eyes
softly weeping
splendid and terrible your love
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
and my name is truthful
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
all quiet along the potomac
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i burn no incense
still her gray rocks tower above the sea

 



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