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grandmother poem

little gate was reached at last
the ships are lying in the bay
what spiteful chance steals unawares
the poets tell
love me at last, or if you will not
listen
i have seen the proudest stars
see, from this counterfeit of him
their beautiful hair
burly, dozing humble-bee
look out upon the stars, my love
let a joy keep you
sadly speaking

 



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