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retirement poem

there is a city, builded by no hand
i fill this cup
let me move slowly through the street
music i heard with you was more than music
my sorrow, when she's here with me
the darkness rolls upward
sweet with fern and rose
i saw the clouds among the hills
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
there are three ways in which men take
there is a country full of wine

 



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