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narrative poetry

somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
in their ragged regimentals
the fragrance came
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
softly now the light of day
no prey am i of poor thoughts
a mist was driving down
to the passionate lover
be not angry with me
royal feast was done
hang no wreath
the swan existing
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
truely

 



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