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baby shower poem

why are the things that have no death
very well, you liberals
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
glooms of the live-oaks
come down at dawn from windless hills
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
under dusky laurel leaf
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
he came and took me by the hand
that strange companion came on shuffling feet
never in all my life

 



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