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grandmother poem

for truth, for love
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
the arches of the red bridge
in halls of sleep you wandered by
i loathed you
simply speaking
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
out of the window a sea of green trees
were it not for that singular smell
since, if you stood by my side today
the agony of having too much power
the poets tell

 



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