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sad poetry

a mile behind
in halls of sleep you wandered by
a little peach in the orchard grew
no prey am i of poor thoughts
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
do i like it
in mournful numbers
to clothe the fiery thought
glass-blower of time
did you ever see an alligator
sweet with fern and rose
who is the runner in the skies
darkest, strangest mystery
this ancient silver bowl of mine

 



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