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baby poem

a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
royal feast was done
which i wish to remark
sadly speaking
i cannot always feel his greatness
the poets tell
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
there was a strangeness on your lips
in your arms was still delight
all those treasures that lie
my son is dead and i am going blind
a thousand silent years ago
i have had one fear in my life

 



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