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friend poem

to some the fat gods
by the rude bridge
dear wife
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
there was a strangeness on your lips
our pleasant moments fly
when i was broke in london
pharaoh, king of egypt's land
in their ragged regimentals
lo! 'tis a gala night
who will be naming the wind
he speaks not well

 



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