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prose poetry

now for a brisk and cheerful fight
i went up and down the streets
birds against the april wind
on and on
as a white candle
i have heard them in the night
one sweetly solemn thought
and my name is truthful
up from the south at break of day
in their ragged regimentals
this ancient silver bowl of mine
i bid them all farewell
gingham dog and the calico cat
who will be naming the wind

 



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