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graduation poem

there is no flock, however watched and tended
moonlight deep and tender
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
to be able to see every side of every question
do the boys and girls still go
have you seen walking through the village
very well, you liberals
in all things not spoken of
under the harvest moon
i made a vow once, one only
above them all, looking down
softly weeping

 



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