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wedding poem

thou unrelenting past
as a naked man i go
in mournful numbers
i am fevered
i shall see a star tonight
skies they were ashen and sober
a storm is riding on the tide
tell me
no prey am i of poor thoughts
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
beside a stricken field
what do i owe to you
bring me soft song
a little peach in the orchard grew

 



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