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concrete poetry

music i heard with you was more than music
there were three in the meadow by the brook
i saw the clouds among the hills
there are gains for all our losses
there is no flock, however watched and tended
glass-blower of time
high-born race
arched the flood
had he and i but met
with lips blood red and heart of stone
her face is fair and smooth and fine
perhaps
i am fevered

 



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