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writing poetry

there's one that i once loved so much
i had a dream and i awoke with it
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
we break the glass whose sacred wine
i am dying
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
you say you love me
gaily through the fields we danced
i saw with open eyes
three years ago today
the arches of the red bridge

 



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