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haiku poem

who will be naming the wind
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
there is a country full of wine
days endeared to every muse
night is dark, and the winter winds
we were not many
in may
what spiteful chance steals unawares
there was a strangeness on your lips
to be able to see every side of every question
winged shadows sweeping by
why so sad my lovely one?
i saw the clouds among the hills

 



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