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good bye poem

the darkness rolls upward
i heard the wind all day
he speaks not well
under the harvest moon
full of tears
from floor to ceiling
to come so soon to this imagined dark
i am fevered
a little peach in the orchard grew
i love to steal awhile away
one sweetly solemn thought
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
out of the deep and the dark

 



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