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elements of poetry

before the solemn bronze saint
i love my hour of wind and light
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
listen
just as my fingers on these keys
if the red slayer think he slays
softly now the light of day
and with the humming bird
i've won the race
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
in mournful numbers
leave the lovely words unsaid
three years ago today

 



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