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thank you poem

for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
in all things not spoken of
still thirteen years
have we no shame?
my soul is a dark ploughed field
i do not pray for peace
the stars fell from heaven
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
i see all human wits
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
out of the sparkling sea

 



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