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9 Chalice It’s late, and you’ve gone, but I must stay where you’ve been; Thinking of cellophane ballerinas, Arlo Gruthrie and talk of Montreal. Tomorrow I must be a pallbearer, For your eyes were a chalice when I held them And saw my image there; and that was union, Till my falling eyes dropped the cup, The ballerina crumbled –a fool’s dream Dispersed among the scattered shells of a broken goblet. David Young


poem written in the summmer 1968..early infatuation

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