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the dawn was apple-green
a mile behind
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
with the sunset
she burst fierce wine
she might have known it in the earlier spring
this ancient silver bowl of mine
what do i owe to you
i despise my friends more than you
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
you are beautiful and faded
a mist was driving down
i know what you're going to say
stir

 



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