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acrostic poem

my sorrow, when she's here with me
are you alive?
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
for truth, for love
in your arms was still delight
no prey am i of poor thoughts
why so sad my lovely one?
tripping up, falling down
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
the meadow was creeping

 



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