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prose poetry

sweet with fern and rose
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
when i looked into your eyes
why do you always stand there shivering
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
for these white arms about my neck
lived by the river-side
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
be in me as the eternal moods
the darkness rolls upward
gone before us

 



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