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friendship poem

i have seen the proudest stars
tell me not
what shall we do now
are you alive?
when freedom from her mountain height
the sun is up
when night drifts along the streets of the city
just as my fingers on these keys
i am dying
beneath the warrior's helm
sun stepped down from his golden throne
if i should die, think only this of me
her face is fair and smooth and fine
she might have known it in the earlier spring

 



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