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epic poetry

days endeared to every muse
weak-winged is song
tell me not
passing through huddled and ugly walls
a pen of steel
did you ever hear of
i loathed you
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
in the sphere
world that changes under my hand
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
lo! 'tis a gala night
the swan existing
i know not where

 



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