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anniversary poem

i am in love with high far-seeing places
the hypocritic days
my mother taught me that every night
skies they were ashen and sober
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
i never knew the earth had so much gold
up from the meadows rich with corn
who is the runner in the skies
arched the flood
she burst fierce wine
and so it goes
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true

 



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