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memorial poem

when night drifts along the streets of the city
long ago, in the young moonlight
i go my way complacently
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
beautiful
roses and gold
there is an hour of peaceful rest
a very remarkable history this is
the old west, the old time
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
looking beyond
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
sweet with fern and rose

 



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