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Grasping pain delay your favour
in this my hour of desired abandon
An oboe coldly syllables
delight of timeless leaves,
not mine ,and forgets:
In me Evening is falling;
it is waterset
on my grassy hands
wings flit in a limp sky
trembling; the heart
migrates,
leaving me fallow,
and my days, rubble.
Quasimodo - 1965

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