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religious poem

her face is fair and smooth and fine
love me at last, or if you will not
winged shadows sweeping by
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
he'd even have his joke
up from the south at break of day
with lips blood red and heart of stone
this is the song of youth
i said
and still they walked on
in your flight
glass-blower of time

 



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