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prose poetry

along a river-side
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
in and of itself
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
darkest, strangest mystery
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
under a spreading chestnut tree
melancholy days have come
who loves the rain
this ancient silver bowl of mine
so fallen
there is a country full of wine
all my love for my sweet

 



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