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happy birthday poem

the arches of the red bridge
death's nobility again
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
is there anybody there
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
stuff of the moon
to come so soon to this imagined dark
there is a city, builded by no hand
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
when, full of warm and eager love
the sun is up
babylon-where i go dreaming
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
you are beautiful and faded

 



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