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teen poems

sweet with fern and rose
i burn no incense
for then without
all down the years
little gate was reached at last
still thirteen years
from our hidden places
i despise my friends more than you
moonlight deep and tender
master of human destinies am i
lo! 'tis a gala night
why are the things that have no death
the meadow was creeping
and my name is truthful

 



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