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poem for pastors

there is no flock, however watched and tended
i gazed upon the glorious sky
had he and i but met
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
the light withdrawn
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
never in all my life
birds against the april wind
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
there is a city, builded by no hand

 



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