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autumn poem

a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
with her hair flaying wildly
love has been sung a thousand ways
i can not tell you now
but i cannot read you now
high walls and huge
a mile behind
let us pity those who are better off than we are
stand here by my side
with joy and wonder
he'd even have his joke
who loves the rain
sun and wind and beat of sea
gaily through the fields we danced

 



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