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friend poetry

a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
this is the arsenal
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
a storm is riding on the tide
that year
softly now the light of day
i said, i have shut my heart
see, they return
i do not pray for peace
sad are they who know not love
she heard the children playing in the sun
sleep, gray brother of death
a few more windy days

 



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