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lyric poem

arched the flood
old wine to drink
as a white candle
who will be naming the wind
dark-eyed
lady, your heart has turned to dust
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
he'd even have his joke
two rows of cabbages
there are gains for all our losses
truely
as evening falls
eighty years have passed, and more

 



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