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writing poetry

darkest, strangest mystery
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
all quiet along the potomac
i burn no incense
i had a dream and i awoke with it
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
why so sad my lovely one?
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
they ask me where i've been
high walls and huge
my son is dead and i am going blind

 



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