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birthday poetry

old wine to drink
softly weeping
to come so soon to this imagined dark
within my hand i hold
perhaps
muffled drum's sad roll has beat
for truth, for love
you say you love me
no prey am i of poor thoughts
as a white candle
i see all human wits
rocked in the cradle of the deep
since i have felt the sense of death
and breaketh bread no more

 



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