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child poetry

let me move slowly through the street
it was a tall young oysterman
glass-blower of time
shades of night were falling fast
truely
tell me not
we break the glass whose sacred wine
in halls of sleep you wandered by
a few more windy days
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
i do not pray for peace
just as my fingers on these keys
i have to say good-night

 



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