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type of poetry

perhaps it is no matter that you died
my sorrow, when she's here with me
you say you love me
the ancient songs
one by one, like leaves from a tree
earth travails
up to her chamber window
and so it goes
stern cold man
all within and all without me
the sun is up
passing through huddled and ugly walls
give me
noises that strive to tear

 



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