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thank you poem

were it not for that singular smell
the arches of the red bridge
white foam flower, red flame flower
pushing out, struggling vainly
have you not heard
it was a tall young oysterman
in halls of sleep you wandered by
let me be sad
and how could you dream of meeting
sweet splendor
but alas, just dreams
very well, you liberals
world that changes under my hand

 



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