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modern poetry

leave the lovely words unsaid
darkest, strangest mystery
long ago, in the young moonlight
often i think of the beautiful town
up to her chamber window
as i lie roofed in, screened in
to clothe the fiery thought
though i am little as all little things
skies they were ashen and sober
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
who is the runner in the skies

 



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