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mom poem

who will be naming the wind
are you awake?
do not turn your head
there is a country full of wine
like eagles on up high
awful truths these be
this ancient silver bowl of mine
all within and all without me
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
good woman
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies

 



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