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sometimes those forgotten hues
that I find in secret grottos
return their salty finger kisses
and wind does too
rely upon old gestures
while the trees grew so stately
and wide
that where you if once hid yourself
where the hedge grows together
the heart itself beside
and wondered into his thorns
and then if pale roses grew
out of it's mighty sights
whose turrets were
the ear conches of the sea
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