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mother poem

i am the wind that wavers
if i had known how narrow a prison is love
if the red slayer think he slays
old wine to drink
what shall we do now
when you come tonight
if i should die, think only this of me
and with the humming bird
my mother taught me that every night
the meadow was creeping
a very remarkable history this is
the saddest of the year
tell me
sweet with fern and rose

 



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