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retirement poem

it was many and many a year ago
out of the window a sea of green trees
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
with lips blood red and heart of stone
do not grieve that it is over
a flying word from here and there
up and down he goes
before the solemn bronze saint
if i should die, think only this of me
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
you say you love me
there is a country full of wine
what shall we do now
out of the deep and the dark

 



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