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sad poetry

a mist was driving down
if it
braided and woven
there is no flock, however watched and tended
he'd even have his joke
there are gains for all our losses
bring me soft song
storm
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
so lost
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
desolate and lone
up from the meadows rich with corn

 



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