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lyric poem

my true love from her pillow rose
i make my shroud, but no one knows
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
come down at dawn from windless hills
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
there was a time in former years
i see all human wits
a little peach in the orchard grew
not from the whole wide world
my mother twines me roses wet with dew

 



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