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short funny poem

how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
sun stepped down from his golden throne
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
the long resounding marble corridors
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
all down the years
once this soft turf
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night

 



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