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birthday poem

my mother twines me roses wet with dew
burly, dozing humble-bee
noises that strive to tear
as it
since i have felt the sense of death
moonlight deep and tender
gaily through the fields we danced
in an old chamber softly lit
days endeared to every muse
the poets tell
though love repine, and reason chafe
arched the flood
god

 



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