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birthday poetry

a bird sang
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
i go my way complacently
i never knew the earth had so much gold
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
i am dying
i am old and blind
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
stay no more
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
i think it just splendid
high-born race
tell me
do i like it

 



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