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angel poem

my soul is a dark ploughed field
lady, your heart has turned to dust
soft as the bed in the earth
up from the south at break of day
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
my sorrow, when she's here with me
eighty years have passed, and more
with the sunset
come down at dawn from windless hills
take my bracelets
i stand in the cold gray weather
this ancient silver bowl of mine
the air is full of dawn and spring
i went up and down the streets

 



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