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angel poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
with the meek, brown eyes
when i returned at sunset
splendid and terrible your love
she might have known it in the earlier spring
up from the south at break of day
the snow whispers about me
glooms of the live-oaks
we were not many
the darkness
the agony of having too much power
there is a country full of wine
he came and took me by the hand
i hold your heart

 



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