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type of poem

who loves the rain
we lay
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
renew the vision of delight
master of human destinies am i
i reside at table mountain
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
why are the things that have no death
calm as that second summer
i think it just splendid
and how could you dream of meeting
i gazed upon the glorious sky

 



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