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teen poems

when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
when i go back to earth
why are the things that have no death
winged shadows sweeping by
if i should die, think only this of me
they ask me where i've been
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
so fallen
in mournful numbers
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise

 



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