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missing you poem

when night drifts along the streets of the city
three years ago today
be not angry with me
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
that year
i am the wind that wavers
the sky
under a spreading chestnut tree
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel

 



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