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pastor appreciation poem

the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
i despise my friends more than you
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
gone are the three, those sisters rare
a thousand silent years ago
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
up from the south at break of day
when the hours of day are numbered
some one complained to the master
i wonder where you live
stuff of the moon

 



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