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haiku poem

among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
why do
shadows lay along broadway
in his guarded tent
all those treasures that lie
which i wish to remark
the ships are lying in the bay
when the hours of day are numbered
under the harvest moon
why are the things that have no death
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
their beautiful hair
they in the darkness gather and ask
truely

 



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