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poem for pastors

death's nobility again
there are gains for all our losses
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
when i looked into your eyes
do not turn your head
she must go back, she said
sweet splendor
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
all my love for my sweet
like eagles on up high
over the river, on the hill
dark-eyed
white foam flower, red flame flower
the child who threw away leaf after leaf

 



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