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child poetry

he came and took me by the hand
the old west, the old time
quietly, with reverance, in awe
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
i have seen the proudest stars
stand here by my side
within my hand i hold
a thousand silent years ago
a few more windy days
the poets tell
i make my shroud, but no one knows
tripping up, falling down

 



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