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mother poem

she limps with halting painful pace
i make my shroud, but no one knows
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
there is a country full of wine
all within and all without me
did you ever see an alligator
very well, you liberals
let us plant
i love to steal awhile away
rising moon has hid the stars
in mournful numbers
thou unrelenting past
soft as the bed in the earth
some of the hurts you have cured

 



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