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autumn poem

my soul is a dark ploughed field
shades of night were falling fast
i have had one fear in my life
before the solemn bronze saint
no prey am i of poor thoughts
he came and took me by the hand
so fallen
sweet splendor
your body's motion is like music
i've won the race
the fragrance came
to some the fat gods
little gate was reached at last

 



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