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lyric poem

i saw the first pear
by the rude bridge
the light withdrawn
i go my way complacently
soft as the bed in the earth
when freedom from her mountain height
have you not heard
over the river, on the hill
the old songs
when the wind works against us in the dark
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
risen from the dead
along a river-side
who is the runner in the skies

 



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