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christmas poems

her face is fair and smooth and fine
a mile behind
from our hidden places
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
give me hunger
sun stepped down from his golden throne
give me
i know what you're going to say
they in the darkness gather and ask
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
were it not for that singular smell
skies they were ashen and sober
and breaketh bread no more

 



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