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math poem

no prey am i of poor thoughts
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
quietly, with reverance, in awe
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
glooms of the live-oaks
come down at dawn from windless hills
listen
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
she burst fierce wine
her face is fair and smooth and fine

 



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