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poem for pastors

how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
why so sad my lovely one?
high-born race
if the red slayer think he slays
lo! 'tis a gala night
do the boys and girls still go
perhaps
last midnight
white foam flower, red flame flower
good woman
with her hair flaying wildly
in your flight

 



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