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brother poem

there is no flock, however watched and tended
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
rocked in the cradle of the deep
up from the meadows rich with corn
a mist was driving down
i love to steal awhile away
be in me as the eternal moods
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
white foam flower, red flame flower
since, if you stood by my side today
from floor to ceiling
into the silent land
one sweetly solemn thought

 



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