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broken heart poem

weak-winged is song
what was it the engines said
in all things not spoken of
and my name is truthful
a life on the ocean wave
there were three in the meadow by the brook
why do you always stand there shivering
could we but know
beautiful, tragical faces
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
we break the glass whose sacred wine
the single clenched fist lifted and ready

 



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