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memorial poem

a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
all day to watch the blue wave curl and break
it was many and many a year ago
as it
within my hand i hold
up and down he goes
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i think it just splendid
at midnight
i make my shroud, but no one knows
there is a country full of wine
just as my fingers on these keys

 



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