but the other
but the otherday i was passing a certaingate rainfell as it will
in springropesof silver gliding from sunnythunder into freshness
as if god's flowers werepulling upon bells ofgold i lookedup
andthought to myself deathand will You withelaborate fingers possibly touch
the pink hollyhock existence whosepansy eyes look from morning tillnight into the streetunchangingly the always
old lady sitting in hergentle window likea reminiscencepartaken
softly at whose gate smilealways the chosenflowers of reminding
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