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short love poem

be patient, life, when love is at the gate
who will be naming the wind
and breaketh bread no more
sleep, gray brother of death
what was it the engines said
i bid them all farewell
those black eyes i once so praised
the air is like a butterfly
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
lady, your heart has turned to dust

 



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