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life poetry

in your flight
glooms of the live-oaks
rocked in the cradle of the deep
night is dark, and the winter winds
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
as i lie roofed in, screened in
up to her chamber window
do not grieve that it is over
it was the autumn of the year
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
beautiful, tragical faces

 



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