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kid poem

i despise my friends more than you
let me move slowly through the street
shadows lay along broadway
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
who will be naming the wind
daughter, thou art come to die
above them all, looking down
the hypocritic days
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
though love repine, and reason chafe
calm as that second summer
the lightning flashed, and lifted

 



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