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christmas poem

i loathed you
before the solemn bronze saint
there is a country full of wine
for then without
i make my shroud, but no one knows
friend, whose smile has come to be
you are beautiful and faded
that year
i go my way complacently
so lost
he's gone
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
noises that strive to tear

 



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