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dark poetry

the hypocritic days
there were three in the meadow by the brook
let me move slowly through the street
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
why are the things that have no death
did you ever hear of
i am singing to you
a little peach in the orchard grew
to clothe the fiery thought
i have cast the world
master of human destinies am i
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
all within and all without me
is there anybody there

 



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