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def poetry

do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
up from the south at break of day
glooms of the live-oaks
there was a strangeness on your lips
i saw with open eyes
a very remarkable history this is
the earth keeps some vibration going
there is a country full of wine
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
i love the old melodious lays
at dawn, he said
the darkness
in september
and my name is truthful

 



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