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sister poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
i saw the archangels in my apple-tree last night
in the cloud-gray mornings
i shall see a star tonight
i bid them all farewell
perhaps
this ancient silver bowl of mine
see, from this counterfeit of him
when the wind works against us in the dark
you are clear
i loathed you
and still they walked on
there's one that i once loved so much

 



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