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autumn poem

tripping up, falling down
softly weeping
rising moon has hid the stars
i do not pray for peace
of sun nor stars
above them all, looking down
star-dust and vaporous light
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
one by one, like leaves from a tree
a life on the ocean wave
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
see, from this counterfeit of him

 



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