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pastor appreciation poem

it was the autumn of the year
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
the long resounding marble corridors
often is it not so?
her face is fair and smooth and fine
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
she limps with halting painful pace
for then without
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
stern cold man
roses and gold
i heard the wind all day

 



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