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autumn poem

there were three in the meadow by the brook
perhaps
there was a strangeness on your lips
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
i am the wind that wavers
she might have known it in the earlier spring
skies they were ashen and sober
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
sing again the song you sung
in all things not spoken of
with joy and wonder

 



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