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angel poem

fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
i can not tell you now
my son is dead and i am going blind
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
be not false
it was many and many a year ago
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
rocked in the cradle of the deep
the old songs
when i looked into your eyes
she was a beauty in the days
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
through the broad earth's aching breast
you are beautiful and faded

 



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