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christmas poetry

all down the years
eighty years have passed, and more
the air is like a butterfly
if i should die, think only this of me
the darkness
there is no escape by the river
not from the whole wide world
i am fevered
brother, i am fire
the poets tell
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
i see all human wits
into the silent land
had he and i but met

 



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