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narrative poetry

in new york harbor
here lies a most beautiful lady
the mountains they are silent folk
over the river they beckon to me
rocked in the cradle of the deep
the sky
white foam flower, red flame flower
the old west, the old time
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
all down the years
there is a country full of wine
the old songs
very well, you liberals
but alas, just dreams

 



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