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child poetry

why so sad my lovely one?
before the solemn bronze saint
i am the wind that wavers
the ships are lying in the bay
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
full of tears
at midnight
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
now while my lips are living
it tells of good old times
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges

 



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