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poetry poem

no prey am i of poor thoughts
there by the window in the old house
let me move slowly through the street
lo! 'tis a gala night
melancholy days have come
three years ago today
my soul is a dark ploughed field
you are beautiful and faded
the meadow was creeping
there is a city, builded by no hand
the single clenched fist lifted and ready

 



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