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love poetry chat

this ancient silver bowl of mine
i love to steal awhile away
glass-blower of time
the stars fell from heaven
melancholy days have come
sleep, gray brother of death
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
the sky
my mother taught me that every night
let me move slowly through the street
in the dark and peace of my final bed
all those treasures that lie
hang no wreath
i hold your heart

 



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