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sad poetry

i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
and how could you dream of meeting
when you come tonight
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
with her hair flaying wildly
pushing out, struggling vainly
rocked in the cradle of the deep
dear wife
i love to steal awhile away
i gazed upon the glorious sky
i expect you
love me at last, or if you will not
to clothe the fiery thought

 



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