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narrative poetry

i have heard that a certain princess
he came and took me by the hand
rocked in the cradle of the deep
looking beyond
burly, dozing humble-bee
before the solemn bronze saint
when i looked into your eyes
gone are the three, those sisters rare
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
who is the runner in the skies
out of the window a sea of green trees
with the meek, brown eyes

 



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