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blossoms of babies
good woman
over the river they beckon to me
sad are they who know not love
one by one, like leaves from a tree
never in all my life
my mother taught me that every night
it was many and many a year ago
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
the little white prayers
my sorrow, when she's here with me
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans

 



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