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modern poetry

come down at dawn from windless hills
mysterious night
a storm is riding on the tide
within my hand i hold
i stood by the open casement
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
in an old chamber softly lit
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
when i looked into your eyes
my son is dead and i am going blind
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying

 



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