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desolate and lone
perhaps it is no matter that you died
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
like eagles on up high
in his guarded tent
i despise my friends more than you
arched the flood
you are beautiful and faded
in the dark and peace of my final bed
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
the pale day drowses on the western steep
it was a tall young oysterman
made up of loveliness alone
and so it goes

 



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