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broken heart poem

is there anybody there
when a deed is done for freedom
i make my shroud, but no one knows
why then, must we see?
in the dark and peace of my final bed
under the harvest moon
i love to steal awhile away
when, full of warm and eager love
god
all within and all without me
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
she burst fierce wine

 



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