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Mangroves

 These black bush-waters, heavy with crusted boughs 
Like plumes above dead captains, wake the mind.
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Uncounted kissing, unremembered vows, Nights long forgotten, moons too dark to find, Or stars too cold.
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all quick things that have fled Whilst these old bubbles uprise in older stone, Return like pale dead faces of children dead, Staring unfelt through doors for ever unknown.
O silent ones that drink these timeless pools, Eternal brothers, bending so deeply over, Your branches tremble above my tears again.
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And even my songs are stolen from some old lover Who cried beneath your leaves like other fools, While still they whisper "in vain.
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in vain.
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in vain.
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"

by Kenneth Slessor
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