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friend poetry

old wine to drink
love me at last, or if you will not
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
i am in love with high far-seeing places
for then without
in new york harbor
beautiful, tragical faces
my soul is a dark ploughed field
with her hair flaying wildly
a look is but a ray
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
in mournful numbers

 



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