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prose poetry

but alas, just dreams
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
up to her chamber window
weak-winged is song
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
earth travails
i have heard that a certain princess
burly, dozing humble-bee
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
arched the flood
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
they in the darkness gather and ask

 



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