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poetry in motion

do not grieve that it is over
days endeared to every muse
there by the window in the old house
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
a life on the ocean wave
one by one, like leaves from a tree
along a river-side
who loves the rain
if the red slayer think he slays
as a white candle
i am fevered
in all things not spoken of
what do i owe to you
if it

 



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