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short poem

rocked in the cradle of the deep
green afternoon serene and bright
what do i owe to you
when a deed is done for freedom
do not turn your head
for then without
it was the autumn of the year
babylon-where i go dreaming
melancholy days have come
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
under dusky laurel leaf
i despise my friends more than you
he's gone
burly, dozing humble-bee

 



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