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poetry poem

behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
there is no escape by the river
there is an hour of peaceful rest
we break the glass whose sacred wine
the air is like a butterfly
soft as the bed in the earth
out of the window a sea of green trees
we lay
beautiful
i reside at table mountain
in the dark and peace of my final bed
why so sad my lovely one?

 



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