Hooge - by
The moon – frozen eye –
/ Stares down stupidly,
/ And the wind licks
/ A few bare sticks,
/ Once trees:
/
/ And near the craters…
The moon – frozen eye –
/ Stares down stupidly,
/ And the wind licks
/ A few bare sticks,
/ Once trees:
/
/ And near the craters…
Have you seen men come from the Line,
/ Tottering, doddering, as if bad wine
/ Had drugged their very souls;
/ Their…
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