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sad death poem

softly now the light of day
and breaketh bread no more
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
there are gains for all our losses
so fallen
be not false
the snow whispers about me
quietly, with reverance, in awe
i never knew the earth had so much gold
at dawn, he said
up and down he goes
hang no wreath
all within and all without me

 



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