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best friend poem

i stood by the open casement
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
by the rude bridge
he came and took me by the hand
i reside at table mountain
softly weeping
stir
and so it goes
beside a stricken field
mysterious night
just as my fingers on these keys
we were not many
if i had known how narrow a prison is love

 



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