Lie
here thinking upon the world
It
will be money
Smears
of purple sky
Our
contribution
Limb
to limb of poison
Far
off revenge
The
little sparrows have seen it
Quarrelling
voices
No
one knows
The
old man gathering his pulpit
Beyond
my words
Empty
a cluster a pious wish
Over
gone
No
question
Each
flowers blemished
Her
dress strange autumn
walk
to school in white flocks
With
yellow pink slashes
Stupid
my heal broken
A
winter of warmth
Sorrow
flames often cold
Lament
years with grief
Stronger
than joy
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