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poem for pastors

out of the sparkling sea
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
i love my hour of wind and light
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
all quiet along the potomac
the snow whispers about me
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
what spiteful chance steals unawares
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
the little white prayers
a thousand silent years ago

 



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