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wedding poetry

this is the arsenal
i saw him once before
the arches of the red bridge
sun stepped down from his golden throne
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
be not angry with me
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
daughters of time
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true

 



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