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retirement poem

our pleasant moments fly
lady, your heart has turned to dust
give me hunger
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
those black eyes i once so praised
is there anybody there
babylon-where i go dreaming
which i wish to remark
with the sunset
i never knew the earth had so much gold
therefore i may not
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
if the red slayer think he slays

 



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