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sorry poem

do not turn your head
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
i saw god. do you doubt it?
grieve not for the invisible
the mountains they are silent folk
the swan existing
in his guarded tent
out of the deep and the dark
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
in september

 



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