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math poem

i saw him once before
weak-winged is song
these be
come down at dawn from windless hills
beautiful
winged shadows sweeping by
we lay
in the cloud-gray mornings
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
when i looked into your eyes
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
we break the glass whose sacred wine
were it not for that singular smell

 



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