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At Tower's Edge

I stand atop the tower's high sill,
Engulfed in the cry of the crane,
And like a fury I let the chill
Rip through my wallowing mane.
O wild companion, o crazy fop,
I want to embrace you in strife,
And, tendon on tendon, two steps from the drop
Fight you for death or life!

And below I see at the shore, as fresh

As playing puppies, the tide
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Sunday, July 31, 2016
Topic(s) of this poem: fighter
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