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narrative poetry

splendid and terrible your love
i saw with open eyes
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
to be able to see every side of every question
but alas, just dreams
when the hours of day are numbered
beneath the warrior's helm
it was a tall young oysterman
have you not heard
the snow whispers about me
why so sad my lovely one?
white foam flower, red flame flower

 



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