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romantic love poem

i make my shroud, but no one knows
she must go back, she said
long ago, in the young moonlight
lady, your heart has turned to dust
it tells of good old times
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
two rows of cabbages
renew the vision of delight
the arches of the red bridge
i loved a woman
white foam flower, red flame flower
splendid and terrible your love

 



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