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pumpkin poem

the hypocritic days
birds against the april wind
you are beautiful and faded
give me
are you alive?
all those treasures that lie
is there anybody there
why then, must we see?
i have heard them in the night
as i lie roofed in, screened in
i am singing to you
there is a city, builded by no hand
all quiet along the potomac

 



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