| Wringing, wringing his pierced hands |
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| The Trees at the end of the lawn were still as cliffs |
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| A Citizen |
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| My thoughts have become like the ancient Hebrew |
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| Aphrodite Vrania |
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| The Sun shone into the bare, wet tree |
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| September |
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| From where she lay she could see the snow crossing the darkness slowly |
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| In the streets children beneath tall houses at games greedily |
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| So one day, tired of the sky and host of stars |
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