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A Song

 I had wanted a quiet testament
and I had wanted, among other things,
a song.
That was to be of a like monotony.
(A grace Simply.
Very very quiet.
A murmur of some lost thrush, though I have never seen one.
Which was you then.
Sitting and so, at peace, so very much now this same quiet.
A song.
And of you the sign now, surely, of a gross perpetuity (which is not reluctant, or if it is, it is no longer important.
A song.
Which one sings, if he sings it, with care.

Poem by Robert Creeley
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