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sorry poem

i loathed you
i never knew the earth had so much gold
when a deed is done for freedom
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue
earth travails
the snow whispers about me
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
looking beyond
do not grieve that it is over
little gate was reached at last
and breaketh bread no more

 



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