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poem for pastors

do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
i made a vow once, one only
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
in their ragged regimentals
be in me as the eternal moods
i have heard that a certain princess
her face is fair and smooth and fine
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
she knows a cheap release
but alas, just dreams
what do i owe to you

 



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