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grandma poem

how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
night is dark, and the winter winds
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
there is no flock, however watched and tended
a little peach in the orchard grew
which keeps
desolate and lone
she said
in new york harbor
take my bracelets
roses and gold
brief on a flying night
if i should die, think only this of me

 



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