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| Rescue from "the shallow stream of time and men's affairs" |
In the speed of the wind
Across flattened fields,
Worked earth an icy paste
Sticking to my soles,
Sins raw in the purged oaks
Raining down the dead,
I hear the voice I want to hear.
I try to get it down,
So that you won't forget,
So that I won't be forgotten.
