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sad poem

all my love for my sweet
sweet and strong
rocked in the cradle of the deep
i cannot always feel his greatness
in the cloud-gray mornings
music i heard with you was more than music
sweet with fern and rose
the mountains they are silent folk
when i returned at sunset
often is it not so?
it was a tall young oysterman
storm
as i lie roofed in, screened in
the body may confine

 



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