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birthday poem

now while my lips are living
the dawn was apple-green
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
long ago, in the young moonlight
he's gone
there is no flock, however watched and tended
to clothe the fiery thought
one sweetly solemn thought
here lies a most beautiful lady
come down at dawn from windless hills
long has the summer sunlight shone
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray

 



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