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black poetry

the child who threw away leaf after leaf
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
days endeared to every muse
when i returned at sunset
music i heard with you was more than music
take my bracelets
she limps with halting painful pace
burly, dozing humble-bee
shadows lay along broadway
come down at dawn from windless hills
do not grieve that it is over
along the banks
she heard the children playing in the sun

 



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