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free love poetry

these be
lo! 'tis a gala night
tripping up, falling down
beneath my window in a city street
a little peach in the orchard grew
some of the hurts you have cured
gone before us
she burst fierce wine
let us pity those who are better off than we are
i can not tell you now
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
when night drifts along the streets of the city
city that is not a city

 



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