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teacher poem

i walk down the garden paths
what spiteful chance steals unawares
there is an hour of peaceful rest
before the solemn bronze saint
musing, between the sunset and the dark
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
see, they return
high-born race
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
the snow whispers about me
arched the flood
under dusky laurel leaf
i see all human wits

 



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