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friend poetry

blossoms of babies
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
we break the glass whose sacred wine
when i looked into your eyes
one sweetly solemn thought
in september
but alas, just dreams
the earth keeps some vibration going
the agony of having too much power
i saw with open eyes
i walk down the garden paths
wheel me down by the meadow

 



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