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sorry poem

this is the ship of pearl
to some the fat gods
they in the darkness gather and ask
it tells of good old times
the sun is up
looking beyond
in new york harbor
what do i owe to you
in and of itself
over the river, on the hill
i have cast the world
who will be naming the wind
beside a stricken field
rose and amber was the sunset on the river

 



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