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birthday poem

as a white candle
sweet splendor
lady, your heart has turned to dust
for then without
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
in new york harbor
i hold your heart
i think it just splendid
let us express our baser passions
i saw him once before
uplifting, as the wind blew
when night drifts along the streets of the city
roses and gold
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be

 



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