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pumpkin poem

the shadows of the ships
why are the things that have no death
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
see the tentative
with her hair flaying wildly
tell me not
the hypocritic days
before the solemn bronze saint
see, from this counterfeit of him
see, they return
sweet splendor
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares

 



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