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friendship poem

this ancient silver bowl of mine
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
now that i have cooled to you
that year
to some the fat gods
you are clear
day is done
under dusky laurel leaf
up to her chamber window
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
hang no wreath
who is the runner in the skies
i went up and down the streets
tripping up, falling down

 



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