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child poem

shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
and how could you dream of meeting
melancholy days have come
stir
arched the flood
high walls and huge
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
in mournful numbers
beautiful, tragical faces
a life on the ocean wave
you are clear
the mountains they are silent folk

 



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