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contemporary poetry

wheel me down by the meadow
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
with her hair flaying wildly
through the broad earth's aching breast
i have seen the proudest stars
gone before us
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
desolate and lone
calm as that second summer
the darkness rolls upward
thoughts through my head
love me at last, or if you will not
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
of sun nor stars

 



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