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son poem

it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
who will be naming the wind
why so sad my lovely one?
to some the fat gods
here falls no light
let me move slowly through the street
she heard the children playing in the sun
musing, between the sunset and the dark
at midnight
sweet with fern and rose
happiness
i saw the clouds among the hills
gloom
this is the ship of pearl

 



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