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all those treasures that lie
grieve not for the invisible
weak-winged is song
these be
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
night is dark, and the winter winds
gone before us
like eagles on up high
which keeps
for these white arms about my neck
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
it tells of good old times
i stood
why so sad my lovely one?

 



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