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grandma poem

some one complained to the master
sad are they who know not love
i stood
in his guarded tent
i despise my friends more than you
sun and wind and beat of sea
when i was a boy at college
beneath my window in a city street
they may talk of love in a cottage
night was black and drear
perhaps it is no matter that you died
within my hand i hold
there is no flock, however watched and tended

 



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