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love poems

one by one, like leaves from a tree
we break the glass whose sacred wine
why so sad my lovely one?
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
i am in love with high far-seeing places
the shadows of the ships
grieve not for the invisible
in mournful numbers
gone before us
little gate was reached at last
she burst fierce wine
a mist was driving down
to come so soon to this imagined dark

 



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