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sad poem

love has been sung a thousand ways
as i lie roofed in, screened in
to the passionate lover
death's nobility again
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
the air is like a butterfly
in new york harbor
it was the autumn of the year
the darkness rolls upward
sing again the song you sung
dark-eyed
perhaps it is no matter that you died
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale

 



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