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birthday poetry

but alas, just dreams
i am dying
hang no wreath
a mist was driving down
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
i stood by the open casement
why do you always stand there shivering
for these white arms about my neck
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
under a spreading chestnut tree
you are my companion
i have heard them in the night

 



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