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grandmother poem

she might have known it in the earlier spring
like him whose spirit in the blaze of noon
gloom
i do not pray for peace
there is a city, builded by no hand
a look is but a ray
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
at midnight
the air is like a butterfly
had he and i but met
little park that i pass through
on and on
she heard the children playing in the sun

 



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