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friend poem

i loathed you
some one complained to the master
but alas, just dreams
lady, your heart has turned to dust
to the passionate lover
she said
she was a beauty in the days
the meadow was creeping
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
up from the south at break of day
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
with lips blood red and heart of stone
had he and i but met
all quiet along the potomac

 



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