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poem for pastors

she heard the children playing in the sun
i make my shroud, but no one knows
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
stay no more
in september
sweet with fern and rose
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
the ancient songs
glooms of the live-oaks
i can not tell you now
for these white arms about my neck
she might have known it in the earlier spring

 



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