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prose poetry

i love the old melodious lays
beside a stricken field
so fallen
musing, between the sunset and the dark
in his guarded tent
be in me as the eternal moods
i love my hour of wind and light
take my bracelets
do the boys and girls still go
earth travails
into the silent land
let us plant
as it
why do you always stand there shivering

 



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