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contemporary poetry

city that is not a city
bring me soft song
i saw the clouds among the hills
we were not many
glass-blower of time
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
beside a stricken field
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
long ago, in the young moonlight
daughter, thou art come to die
noises that strive to tear
my sorrow, when she's here with me

 



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