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angel poem

one sweetly solemn thought
weak-winged is song
when you come tonight
green afternoon serene and bright
skies they were ashen and sober
i see all human wits
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
all down the years
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
have you seen walking through the village
which i wish to remark
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
but i cannot read you now
a bird sang

 



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