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cowboy poetry

those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
the shadows of the ships
i saw with open eyes
the hypocritic days
in new york harbor
awful truths these be
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
full of tears
burly, dozing humble-bee
she limps with halting painful pace
as it
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
i am a woman
there were three in the meadow by the brook

 



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