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I’ve been so many persons and have carried them with me
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It’s not enough to brace yourself;
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The good life gives no warning.
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In a field
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all raw astonishment, Eve rubbing
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Take my bright
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The world wounds us
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calling the sky “a grey slate” or clouds
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it’s a festival we want a popsicle some honeydew a break
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To resurrect some sunset favored by doves,
