canoe
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in the ponds of mountain no tomorrow
mother loon croons her songs of sorrow
and though the tufts of storms blow by
she will not quit her phantom cry
the corpses of canoes will sink and lift
Once upon a time the was a boy in a mahogany canoe.
The boy and his mahogany canoe drifted down a stream
that contained memories of an individual in the water's
reflections. From what the boy could percieve he saw a young
