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the body may confine
what spiteful chance steals unawares
a mile behind
what shall we do now
come down at dawn from windless hills
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
often is it not so?
night was black and drear
burly, dozing humble-bee
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
do you hear the rain?
lady, your heart has turned to dust
the meadow was creeping

 



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