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best love poem

still her gray rocks tower above the sea
a storm is riding on the tide
she was a beauty in the days
music i heard with you was more than music
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
what spiteful chance steals unawares
often is it not so?
within my hand i hold
why do you always stand there shivering
from floor to ceiling
in your flight
as a white candle

 



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