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grandmother poem

when a deed is done for freedom
the shadows of the ships
brief on a flying night
melancholy, blue it was
glooms of the live-oaks
and still they walked on
it was the autumn of the year
see, from this counterfeit of him
the snow whispers about me
night was black and drear
to come so soon to this imagined dark
gloom
uplifting, as the wind blew

 



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