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funny poem

before the solemn bronze saint
glooms of the live-oaks
of sun nor stars
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
at midnight
once this soft turf
up from the south at break of day
with her hair flaying wildly
look out upon the stars, my love
weak-winged is song
have you heard
good woman
my sorrow, when she's here with me

 



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