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type of poetry

afraid no more, i say
who will be naming the wind
i have come into the desert because my soul is athirst
i am old and blind
a little peach in the orchard grew
not from the whole wide world
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
had he and i but met
into the silent land
noises that strive to tear
do the boys and girls still go
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor

 



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