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sad poetry

she must go back, she said
i am dying
what do i owe to you
along the banks
by the rude bridge
three years ago today
what spiteful chance steals unawares
why do you always stand there shivering
i am a woman
she might have known it in the earlier spring
grieve not for the invisible
up from the meadows rich with corn
sweet splendor

 



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