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poem for pastors

now for a brisk and cheerful fight
just now
skies they were ashen and sober
better than granite
royal feast was done
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
when, full of warm and eager love
still thirteen years
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
why are the things that have no death
we were not many
the shadows of the ships
i am singing to you
one by one, like leaves from a tree

 



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