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poetry poem

awful truths these be
when night drifts along the streets of the city
a pen of steel
i stood
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways
backward, turn backward
quietly, with reverance, in awe
your body's motion is like music
there are three ways in which men take
not from the whole wide world
two rows of cabbages
but alas, just dreams
a flying word from here and there

 



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