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def poetry

before the solemn bronze saint
braided and woven
since i have felt the sense of death
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
sleep, gray brother of death
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
it tells of good old times
i saw the first pear
beside a stricken field
the sun is up
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
old wine to drink

 



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