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Next I am weary of daily things, How the limbs of the sycamore Dip to the snow surge and disaffcct; How the ice moans and the salt swells. Where is that country I signed for, the one with the lamp, The one with the penny in each shoe? I want to lie down, I am so tired, and let The crab grass seep through my heart, Side by side with the inchworm arid the fallen psalm, Close to the river bank, In autumn, the red leaves in the sky Like lost flags, sidle and drift . . . 123 ...

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