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friendship poem

when the hours of day are numbered
the dawn was apple-green
she must go back, she said
brother, i am fire
this is the arsenal
if the red slayer think he slays
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
where shall i find you
like eagles on up high
a thousand silent years ago
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night

 



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