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friend poem

i cannot always feel his greatness
have you heard
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
into the silent land
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
full of tears
old wine to drink
the hypocritic days
for truth, for love
under a spreading chestnut tree
do you remember
the mountains they are silent folk
she said

 



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