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type of poem

when the wind works against us in the dark
love me at last, or if you will not
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
softly now the light of day
with lips blood red and heart of stone
i hold your heart
when i looked into your eyes
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i cannot always feel his greatness
tell me

 



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