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mother poem

three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
i think it just splendid
the agony of having too much power
let us plant
gone are the three, those sisters rare
from song and dream for ever gone
out of the window a sea of green trees
the little white prayers
world that changes under my hand
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
suddenly, out of dark and leafy ways

 



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