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friendship poem

there is no escape by the river
and how could you dream of meeting
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
one by one, like leaves from a tree
have you not heard
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
there were three in the meadow by the brook
within my hand i hold
burly, dozing humble-bee

 



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