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christian poetry

fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
weak-winged is song
skies they were ashen and sober
high-born race
let me be sad
let a joy keep you
the shadows of the ships
this ancient silver bowl of mine
i had a dream and i awoke with it
the mountains they are silent folk
i am a woman
but i cannot read you now
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars

 



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