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mother poem

night is dark, and the winter winds
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
i have to say good-night
he speaks not well
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
my mother taught me that every night
all my love for my sweet
as i lie roofed in, screened in
i saw god. do you doubt it?
daughters of time
as a white candle
tell me
high-born race
on and on

 



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