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sympathy poem

love me at last, or if you will not
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
shadows lay along broadway
over the river, on the hill
a flying word from here and there
i despise my friends more than you
sweet and strong
for truth, for love
a few more windy days
splendid and terrible your love
little gate was reached at last
who will be naming the wind

 



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