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child poem

the mountains they are silent folk
lady, your heart has turned to dust
softly weeping
when, full of warm and eager love
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
since i have felt the sense of death
the poets tell
i know not where
for i was a gaunt, grave councillor
rising moon has hid the stars
world that changes under my hand
there are gains for all our losses
with her hair flaying wildly

 



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