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lost love poem

a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
little park that i pass through
and so it goes
sun stepped down from his golden throne
stuff of the moon
i have heard that a certain princess
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
last night the full moon laid a cloth of white
long has the summer sunlight shone
soft as the bed in the earth
winged shadows sweeping by
i am dying
in may

 



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