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autumn poem

to come so soon to this imagined dark
there was a strangeness on your lips
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
who will be naming the wind
music i heard with you was more than music
all my love for my sweet
softly weeping
tell me not
awful truths these be
could we but know
up from the south at break of day
she knows a cheap release
i never knew the earth had so much gold

 



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