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acrostic poem

at midnight
you are beautiful and faded
see, from this counterfeit of him
over the river they beckon to me
you say you love me
up from the south at break of day
but i cannot read you now
she limps with halting painful pace
the agony of having too much power
there is a country full of wine
all my love for my sweet
thou unrelenting past
it was a tall young oysterman
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred

 



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