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birthday poetry

burly, dozing humble-bee
stand here by my side
it was a tall young oysterman
those black eyes i once so praised
the old songs
before the solemn bronze saint
let us pity those who are better off than we are
listen to the sounding sea
her face is fair and smooth and fine
i am old and blind
a flying word from here and there
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
it tells of good old times
desolate and lone

 



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