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death poetry

my son is dead and i am going blind
why are the things that have no death
have you not heard
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
to the passionate lover
he came and took me by the hand
birds against the april wind
green afternoon serene and bright
lived by the river-side
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
the ships are lying in the bay
moonlight deep and tender
i know not where

 



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