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Pastoral Elegy

On crystal days when the air is clear
By the mountains ruined in cold
The rustics drown themselves in beer
While their sheep keep close to the fold.

 The young man waits by the sleek hillside;
His mind gone to heaven, his soul alone
Sings elegies for absent brides
While the sun slides through the gloam.

 The stars salt an ache that deepens
The dark blinds those who cry
Pens scrawl the words that cheapen
While the crows fly.

This time it is only stars and frost --
The world doesn't mind the lost.

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