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wedding poetry

tripping up, falling down
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
dear wife
all within and all without me
when i was a boy at college
desolate and lone
as it
do not grieve that it is over
be not false
but alas, just dreams
eighty years have passed, and more
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
all quiet along the potomac

 



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