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best love poem

i make my shroud, but no one knows
as a white candle
there is no flock, however watched and tended
sad are they who know not love
be not false
as i lie roofed in, screened in
had he and i but met
there by the window in the old house
often i think of the beautiful town
i loathed you
in the cloud-gray mornings
with lips blood red and heart of stone

 



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