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type of poem

i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
and how could you dream of meeting
old wine to drink
he'd even have his joke
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
just as my fingers on these keys
if i were very sure
i went up and down the streets
birds against the april wind
sun stepped down from his golden throne
skies they were ashen and sober

 



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