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birthday poetry

if the red slayer think he slays
do i like it
long has the summer sunlight shone
up from the meadows rich with corn
i am fevered
rocked in the cradle of the deep
all those treasures that lie
i can not tell you now
beautiful
in his guarded tent
and how could you dream of meeting
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
before the solemn bronze saint
once this soft turf

 



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