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grandma poem

this is the ship of pearl
often is it not so?
high-born race
one sweetly solemn thought
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
simply speaking
i made a vow once, one only
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
glass-blower of time
beautiful, tragical faces
city that is not a city
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead

 



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