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i miss you poem

let us pity those who are better off than we are
wheel me down by the meadow
of sun nor stars
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
just as my fingers on these keys
why are the things that have no death
listen to the sounding sea
gaily through the fields we danced
long has the summer sunlight shone
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges

 



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