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christmas poem

i cannot always feel his greatness
i stood
the little white prayers
just now
the old songs
royal feast was done
city that is not a city
in mournful numbers
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
all quiet along the potomac
skies they were ashen and sober
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
in halls of sleep you wandered by
as evening falls

 



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