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anniversary poetry

weak-winged is song
green afternoon serene and bright
risen from the dead
winged shadows sweeping by
i am the wind that wavers
why then, must we see?
leave the lovely words unsaid
it tells of good old times
quietly, with reverance, in awe
burly, dozing humble-bee
beneath my window in a city street
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
i burn no incense

 



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