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brother poem

the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
to some the fat gods
with the sunset
uplifting, as the wind blew
at dawn, he said
be not angry with me
there is a country full of wine
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
sad are they who know not love
sadly speaking
pushing out, struggling vainly
in the sphere
the body may confine

 



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