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love poetry chat

if i had known how narrow a prison is love
do not grieve that it is over
i do not pray for peace
hang no wreath
days endeared to every muse
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
where shall i find you
to come so soon to this imagined dark
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars

 



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