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def poetry

it tells of good old times
it was a tall young oysterman
i saw him once before
glooms of the live-oaks
you are clear
sadly speaking
with her hair flaying wildly
blossoms of babies
the arches of the red bridge
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
gone are the three, those sisters rare
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
star-dust and vaporous light
in september

 



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