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death poem

why do you always stand there shivering
a flying word from here and there
what spiteful chance steals unawares
old wine to drink
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
green afternoon serene and bright
if i were very sure
let us pity those who are better off than we are
at dawn, he said
the fragrance came
as a white candle

 



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