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angel poem

a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
for truth, for love
this is the song of youth
there is no flock, however watched and tended
sun and wind and beat of sea
often i think of the beautiful town
world that changes under my hand
just now
so fallen
why then, must we see?
before the solemn bronze saint
i saw the first pear
better than granite
weak-winged is song

 



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