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child poem

tell me
it was a tall young oysterman
i know what you're going to say
where shall i find you
see, from this counterfeit of him
sweet splendor
the pale day drowses on the western steep
rising moon has hid the stars
and my name is truthful
simply speaking
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me

 



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