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beautiful
when the hours of day are numbered
up from the meadows rich with corn
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
are you alive?
from our hidden places
a few more windy days
the body may confine
i stood
along a river-side
backward, turn backward
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
i walk down the garden paths

 



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