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angel poem

when night drifts along the streets of the city
friend, whose smile has come to be
grieve not for the invisible
with lips blood red and heart of stone
you are clear
days endeared to every muse
i have had one fear in my life
the hypocritic days
it tells of good old times
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
the arches of the red bridge

 



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