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poem for pastors

the air is full of dawn and spring
just now
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
night is dark, and the winter winds
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
to clothe the fiery thought
she said
what spiteful chance steals unawares
take my bracelets
i am fevered
master of human destinies am i
in may
all those treasures that lie
have we no shame?

 



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