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poem for pastors

old wine to drink
when, full of warm and eager love
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
the old west, the old time
eighty years have passed, and more
i go my way complacently
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
i fill this cup
if the red slayer think he slays
the sky
in mournful numbers
a little peach in the orchard grew
let me be sad

 



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