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child poem

there is no flock, however watched and tended
the mountains they are silent folk
the arches of the red bridge
up to her chamber window
i burn no incense
a flying word from here and there
i loathed you
under dusky laurel leaf
the stars fell from heaven
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
see, from this counterfeit of him
dear wife
though love repine, and reason chafe
take my bracelets

 



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