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angel poem

the air is like a butterfly
that year
in new york harbor
uplifting, as the wind blew
there by the window in the old house
master of human destinies am i
splendid and terrible your love
for then without
last midnight
pushing out, struggling vainly
though love repine, and reason chafe
what do i owe to you
royal feast was done
i shall see a star tonight

 



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