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sister poem

while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
i am a woman
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
the pale day drowses on the western steep
in september
up from the meadows rich with corn
so lost
there is no escape by the river
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam

 



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