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father poem

let us pity those who are better off than we are
i make my shroud, but no one knows
darkest, strangest mystery
the darkness rolls upward
we break the glass whose sacred wine
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
and how could you dream of meeting
above them all, looking down
perhaps
a little peach in the orchard grew
see i give myself to you
daughters of time
a very remarkable history this is

 



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