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contemporary poetry

if i should die, think only this of me
at dawn, he said
a mist was driving down
i do not pray for peace
sweet and strong
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
in and of itself
give me
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
gloom
sadly speaking
last midnight
did you ever hear of
i gazed upon the glorious sky

 



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