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poem for pastors

there are three ways in which men take
with lips blood red and heart of stone
when i returned at sunset
your body's motion is like music
i stood by the open casement
let me be sad
a storm is riding on the tide
the hypocritic days
gloom
night was black and drear
and breaketh bread no more
what spiteful chance steals unawares
and still they walked on
be not false

 



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