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mother daughter poem

i am fevered
it was a tall young oysterman
a sky that has never known sun, moon or stars
give me
a mist was driving down
now while my lips are living
high-born race
mysterious night
into the silent land
i know not where
brief on a flying night
why then, must we see?
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
there are three ways in which men take

 



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