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mom poem

the little white prayers
to the passionate lover
beneath my window in a city street
here lies a most beautiful lady
within my hand i hold
a storm is riding on the tide
i heard the wind all day
do you hear the rain?
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
rocked in the cradle of the deep
i reside at table mountain
why then, must we see?
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones

 



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