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wedding poetry

two rows of cabbages
backward, turn backward
a pen of steel
were it not for that singular smell
soft as the bed in the earth
sadly speaking
i do not pray for peace
weak-winged is song
sweet and strong
mysterious night
for these white arms about my neck
star-dust and vaporous light
when night drifts along the streets of the city
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room

 



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