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sad poetry

a little peach in the orchard grew
birds against the april wind
lo! 'tis a gala night
love me at last, or if you will not
since, if you stood by my side today
i heard the wind all day
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
sleep, gray brother of death
sweet with fern and rose
with her hair flaying wildly
to come so soon to this imagined dark
she knows a cheap release
if i should die, think only this of me
to clothe the fiery thought

 



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