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angel poem

uplifting, as the wind blew
softly weeping
there is a country full of wine
she limps with halting painful pace
desolate and lone
here falls no light
i loathed you
some of the hurts you have cured
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
before the solemn bronze saint
i bid them all farewell
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
now for a brisk and cheerful fight

 



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