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sympathy poem

in mournful numbers
the little white prayers
out of the window a sea of green trees
soft as the bed in the earth
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
there is a city, builded by no hand
why so sad my lovely one?
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
to some the fat gods
out of the deep and the dark
at midnight

 



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