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thank you poem

sun stepped down from his golden throne
they may talk of love in a cottage
over the river, on the hill
it was a tall young oysterman
the air is full of dawn and spring
the dawn was apple-green
i despise my friends more than you
if it
who will be naming the wind
i am old and blind
over the river they beckon to me
were it not for that singular smell

 



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