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sympathy poem

be not angry with me
why are the things that have no death
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
above them all, looking down
often i think of the beautiful town
up and down he goes
i fill this cup
sweet and strong
along a river-side
love has been sung a thousand ways
some of the hurts you have cured
what spiteful chance steals unawares
but alas, just dreams
mysterious night

 



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