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footprint poem

within my hand i hold
weak-winged is song
noises that strive to tear
little gate was reached at last
we lay
three years ago today
but i cannot read you now
out of the deep and the dark
i saw with open eyes
i know not where
splendid and terrible your love
one by one, like leaves from a tree
my mother twines me roses wet with dew

 



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