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modern poetry

passing through huddled and ugly walls
little park that i pass through
before the solemn bronze saint
a mist was driving down
within my hand i hold
above them all, looking down
hang no wreath
you are beautiful and faded
i wonder where you live
of sun nor stars
gloom
musing, between the sunset and the dark
the ancient songs
soft as the bed in the earth

 



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