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antony glaser
Poems
Nov 4
Entree
The gorse withers on the ground
The Sin is autumnally thin
Silence hithes in blue
Those roughshed days
are scattered with the leaves
Schemes are forgotten
Feelings disposed
Into the chamber of nothingness
do we ascend
Lamenting
Guitars are trickling
And the lamp lightly lit
We have come to dream
Written by
antony glaser
61/M/croydon
(61/M/croydon)
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