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romantic love poem

sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
what spiteful chance steals unawares
high-born race
beautiful
up from the meadows rich with corn
in the cloud-gray mornings
here lies a most beautiful lady
i shall see a star tonight
now that i have cooled to you
up and down he goes
on and on
are you awake?
let us plant
i make my shroud, but no one knows

 



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