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son poem

sun stepped down from his golden throne
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
there is an hour of peaceful rest
since, if you stood by my side today
beneath my window in a city street
softly weeping
why then, must we see?
if it
three years ago today
i do not pray for peace
passing through huddled and ugly walls
the meadow was creeping
it was the autumn of the year

 



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