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mother daughter poem

there are gains for all our losses
very well, you liberals
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
here lies a most beautiful lady
in an old chamber softly lit
i saw the clouds among the hills
the hypocritic days
do you hear the rain?
i make my shroud, but no one knows
a little peach in the orchard grew
i despise my friends more than you

 



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