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family poetry

at midnight
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
in your arms was still delight
i do not pray for peace
he'd even have his joke
within my hand i hold
all quiet along the potomac
i have heard that a certain princess
the air is like a butterfly
i am the wind that wavers
do i like it
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
now for a brisk and cheerful fight

 



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