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kid poem

i stood
burly, dozing humble-bee
it was a tall young oysterman
when freedom from her mountain height
she must go back, she said
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
one by one, like leaves from a tree
let a joy keep you
i make my shroud, but no one knows
simplicity
through the broad earth's aching breast
now while my lips are living
listen

 



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