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narrative poetry

last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
i am a woman
beautiful
quietly, with reverance, in awe
i despise my friends more than you
i have cast the world
i loved a woman
over the river, on the hill
little gate was reached at last
still thirteen years
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
all quiet along the potomac
out of the window a sea of green trees
listen to the sounding sea

 



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