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nature poem

i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
stay no more
it tells of good old times
my soul is a dark ploughed field
risen from the dead
sleep, gray brother of death
above them all, looking down
god
happiness
there is no flock, however watched and tended
just as my fingers on these keys
there is a city, builded by no hand
high walls and huge
we break the glass whose sacred wine

 



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