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short poem

i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
along the banks
if i should die, think only this of me
tell me not
i despise my friends more than you
to the passionate lover
the earth keeps some vibration going
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
take my bracelets
the mountains they are silent folk
as a naked man i go
this is the ship of pearl
out of the window a sea of green trees
the ancient songs

 



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