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Wringing, wringing his pierced hands
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The Trees at the end of the lawn were still as cliffs
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A Citizen
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My thoughts have become like the ancient Hebrew
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Aphrodite Vrania
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The Sun shone into the bare, wet tree
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September
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In the streets children beneath tall houses at games greedily
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From where she lay she could see the snow crossing the darkness slowly
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So one day, tired of the sky and host of stars
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