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epic poetry

just now
my soul is a dark ploughed field
along the banks
let us plant
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
burly, dozing humble-bee
my mother taught me that every night
in the cloud-gray mornings
he came and took me by the hand
in their ragged regimentals
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
shades of night were falling fast
with the sunset
tripping up, falling down

 



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