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type of poem

there is no escape by the river
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
the swan existing
the ships are lying in the bay
i have seen the proudest stars
i expect you
this ancient silver bowl of mine
grieve not for the invisible
once this soft turf
when the hours of day are numbered
mysterious night
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
i gazed upon the glorious sky

 



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