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break up poem

thoughts through my head
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
hang no wreath
often is it not so?
just now
have you not heard
you are clear
i am the wind that wavers
there was never a sound beside the wood but one
quietly, with reverance, in awe
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
sleep sweetly in your humble graves

 



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