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angel poem

there is a country full of wine
so lost
who will be naming the wind
musing, between the sunset and the dark
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
moonlight deep and tender
where shall i find you
the darkness
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
in halls of sleep you wandered by
let me move slowly through the street
i am old and blind
to come so soon to this imagined dark

 



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