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inspirational poetry

the ancient songs
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
what shall we do now
gone are the three, those sisters rare
now while my lips are living
birds against the april wind
out of the window a sea of green trees
there was a strangeness on your lips
risen from the dead
in the cloud-gray mornings
beautiful
you are clear
into the silent land
see i give myself to you

 



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