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teacher poem

the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
since, if you stood by my side today
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
little gate was reached at last
in halls of sleep you wandered by
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
stand here by my side
skies they were ashen and sober
the dawn was apple-green
the arches of the red bridge
there is no escape by the river
in mournful numbers
the light withdrawn
grieve not for the invisible

 



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