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teenage love poem

blossoms of babies
the air is like a butterfly
darkest, strangest mystery
i do not pray for peace
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
but i cannot read you now
there is a city, builded by no hand
softly weeping
from our hidden places
the pale day drowses on the western steep
in the sphere
the fragrance came
the old songs
three years ago today

 



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