450
the lost
the animals our virtues
call them to the conversation
over shoulder say
meek and eyes down
so have they hauled my cart to here
the eaten!
cloud to which souls are
nose to arse on
they are in my head
o there's the monster
have you heard
no naming
is it not wonderment
the knowing of the way that's gone?
around a glory so arranged
arksworth
kind forgiving
mild
how are we
but these were before?
we will be again
bodies
as these are among
and they've an indignation too
by the forkful they go down
and spoon in broth
no beds for them
what mighty steppes
are rendered glue
the lost are of a wander
aren't their eyes
all why for us
will the war come here?
it cannot be known
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