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funny poem

the old songs
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
burly, dozing humble-bee
i despise my friends more than you
with her hair flaying wildly
stuff of the moon
do you remember
who will be naming the wind
the agony of having too much power
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
which i wish to remark
beautiful, tragical faces

 



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