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type of poetry

beneath my window in a city street
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
in their ragged regimentals
my soul is a dark ploughed field
but alas, just dreams
there was a strangeness on your lips
beneath the warrior's helm
they ask me where i've been
when, full of warm and eager love
calm as that second summer
i make my shroud, but no one knows
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
i have heard them in the night


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