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The Pagan

So here are you, and here am I,
Where we may thank our gods to be;
Above the earth, beneath the sky,
Naked souls alive and free.
The autumn wind goes rustling by
And stirs the stubble at our feet;
Out of the west it whispering blows,
Stops to caress and onward goes,
Bringing its earthy odours sweet.
See with what pride the the setting sun
Kinglike in gold and purple dies,
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COMMENTS
Pablo Iglesias 13 January 2020
Why on Earth should humankind preserve such a non-sense Disheartening attempt of poetry.
0 1 Reply

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