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spanish poem

and how could you dream of meeting
beautiful
in halls of sleep you wandered by
one sweetly solemn thought
i stand in the cold gray weather
in your flight
long ago, in the young moonlight
storm
so lost
do not grieve that it is over
my soul is a dark ploughed field
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i saw god. do you doubt it?

 



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