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footprint poem

the body may confine
in september
the old west, the old time
to some the fat gods
high walls and huge
with the meek, brown eyes
out of the window a sea of green trees
it was the autumn of the year
into the silent land
very well, you liberals
dear wife
and so it goes
by the shore, by the sea
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor

 



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