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family poem

beneath my window in a city street
i burn no incense
there are gains for all our losses
this is the ship of pearl
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
the snow whispers about me
the hypocritic days
a very remarkable history this is
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
when a deed is done for freedom
i loathed you

 



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