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pumpkin poem

who is the runner in the skies
where shall i find you
she was a beauty in the days
i stood
simply speaking
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
the shadows of the ships
and breaketh bread no more
i can not tell you now
sweet splendor
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
there was a strangeness on your lips
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
when i returned at sunset

 



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