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funeral poem

which keeps
doubtless i remember still
her face is fair and smooth and fine
there were three in the meadow by the brook
for truth, for love
i saw god. do you doubt it?
and how could you dream of meeting
i go my way complacently
birds against the april wind
a little peach in the orchard grew
candles toppling sideways in tomato cans
the sky

 



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