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grandma poem

little park that i pass through
i expect you
see, they return
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
shades of night were falling fast
who loves the rain
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
there is a country full of wine
what was it the engines said
splendid and terrible your love
who will be naming the wind
along a river-side
by the shore, by the sea
i said

 



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