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poetry in motion

up from the south at break of day
tell me less or tell me more
stand here by my side
pushing out, struggling vainly
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
hang no wreath
babylon-where i go dreaming
weak-winged is song
my mother taught me that every night
braided and woven
i expect you
a mile behind
glooms of the live-oaks
for these white arms about my neck

 



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