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suicide poetry

three years ago today
long ago, in the young moonlight
in the dark and peace of my final bed
softly now the light of day
though love repine, and reason chafe
through the broad earth's aching breast
i had over-prepared the event
lo! 'tis a gala night
there are three ways in which men take
darkest, strangest mystery
when i looked into your eyes
out of the window a sea of green trees

 



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