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concrete poetry

he came and took me by the hand
still thirteen years
perhaps it is no matter that you died
i saw with open eyes
rocked in the cradle of the deep
is there anybody there
he's gone
the mountains they are silent folk
doubtless i remember still
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
simply speaking
when you come tonight
over the river, on the hill
lady, your heart has turned to dust

 



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