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gothic poetry

one by one, like leaves from a tree
quietly, with reverance, in awe
the old west, the old time
as evening falls
braided and woven
could we but know
be not false
skies they were ashen and sober
out of the sparkling sea
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
birds against the april wind
when you come tonight
my mother taught me that every night

 



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