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autumn poem

evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
weak-winged is song
do the boys and girls still go
if i were very sure
i am fevered
there is a city, builded by no hand
there is an hour of peaceful rest
there is no flock, however watched and tended
two rows of cabbages
a very remarkable history this is
let us pity those who are better off than we are
a storm is riding on the tide

 



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