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A special happiness
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Let the cricket take up chafing
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Goodbye, Winter,
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Somewhere there’s a goat that squirts
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The paradise of Autumn light
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It is the words starve us, the act that feeds.
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A few books shining like the wood of trees.
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It’s hard / to understand / but time apparently
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And how is one to / read a nod? Is a nod an exclamation?
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When the sky is blue as Minerva’s eyes