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gothic poetry

he's gone
do i like it
the sky
those black eyes i once so praised
softly now the light of day
though i am little as all little things
i love my hour of wind and light
which i wish to remark
you say you love me
i gazed upon the glorious sky
grieve not for the invisible
moonlight deep and tender
city that is not a city
days endeared to every muse

 



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