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def poetry jam

old wine to drink
some of the hurts you have cured
i do not pray for peace
no prey am i of poor thoughts
the shadows of the ships
before the solemn bronze saint
beside a stricken field
to the passionate lover
shades of night were falling fast
once this soft turf
the long resounding marble corridors
when i was a boy at college
the mountains they are silent folk

 



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