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fall poem

beneath the warrior's helm
i said
little park that i pass through
the sky
when a deed is done for freedom
let us express our baser passions
see the tentative
day is done
one with you
the snow whispers about me
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
there is a city, builded by no hand
the old west, the old time
melancholy, blue it was

 



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