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poem

the snow whispers about me
i go my way complacently
since, if you stood by my side today
a very remarkable history this is
storm
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
which i wish to remark
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
wheel me down by the meadow
now while my lips are living
thou unrelenting past
a look is but a ray

 



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