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graduation poem

i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
for these white arms about my neck
i am dying
give me hunger
truely
i walk down the garden paths
there are gains for all our losses
a look is but a ray
see, from this counterfeit of him
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
the pale day drowses on the western steep
my son is dead and i am going blind

 



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