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poetry in motion

when i looked into your eyes
who will be naming the wind
you are my companion
there were three in the meadow by the brook
along the banks
friend, whose smile has come to be
melancholy days have come
there is a city, builded by no hand
the hypocritic days
i have to say good-night
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst

 



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