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birthday poetry

tripping up, falling down
with the meek, brown eyes
star-dust and vaporous light
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
i go my way complacently
if the red slayer think he slays
let us pity those who are better off than we are
all those treasures that lie
glass-blower of time
shades of night were falling fast
in new york harbor

 



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