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poem for pastors

with her hair flaying wildly
in the cloud-gray mornings
i bid them all farewell
therefore i may not
the body may confine
what was it the engines said
master of human destinies am i
before the solemn bronze saint
thoughts through my head
they may talk of love in a cottage
the stars fell from heaven
the darkness rolls upward
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel

 



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