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type of poetry

what spiteful chance steals unawares
listen
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
they in the darkness gather and ask
with lips blood red and heart of stone
he's gone
the arches of the red bridge
sun and wind and beat of sea
god
night is dark, and the winter winds
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon

 



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