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prose poetry

made up of loveliness alone
under the harvest moon
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
as evening falls
i saw god. do you doubt it?
with joy and wonder
when freedom from her mountain height
sweet with fern and rose
my sorrow, when she's here with me
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
as a white candle
there are gains for all our losses

 



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