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love poems

up from the meadows rich with corn
the little white prayers
for truth, for love
i heard the wind all day
this is the arsenal
at midnight
out of the window a sea of green trees
let a joy keep you
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
here falls no light
beside a stricken field
into the silent land
there is a city, builded by no hand
i make my shroud, but no one knows

 



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