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christmas poetry

passing through huddled and ugly walls
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
among the mountains i wandered
just now
over the river they beckon to me
blossoms of babies
love me at last, or if you will not
why are the things that have no death
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges

 



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