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short poem

little park that i pass through
i have heard that a certain princess
softly weeping
the pale day drowses on the western steep
the long resounding marble corridors
the ships are lying in the bay
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
and my name is truthful
the dawn was apple-green
music i heard with you was more than music
i said
melancholy days have come

 



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