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romantic love poems

my son is dead and i am going blind
what do i owe to you
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
a storm is riding on the tide
sweet with fern and rose
up from the south at break of day
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i saw god. do you doubt it?
of sun nor stars
why then, must we see?

 



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