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sorry poem

when freedom from her mountain height
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
the old west, the old time
beautiful, tragical faces
when night drifts along the streets of the city
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
i saw god. do you doubt it?
above them all, looking down
i do not pray for peace
i saw with open eyes
they may talk of love in a cottage
when a deed is done for freedom
god

 



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