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christmas poems

sleep, gray brother of death
are you awake?
to some the fat gods
i make my shroud, but no one knows
it was the autumn of the year
just as my fingers on these keys
i stand in the cold gray weather
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i never knew the earth had so much gold
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
sweet splendor
sun and wind and beat of sea
risen from the dead
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break

 



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