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happy birthday poem

for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
i burn no incense
do you hear the rain?
happiness
birds against the april wind
world that changes under my hand
to come so soon to this imagined dark
she burst fierce wine
when the veil from the eyes is lifted
i heard the wind all day
before the solemn bronze saint
looking beyond
burly, dozing humble-bee

 



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