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dark poetry

there are gains for all our losses
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
be not angry with me
all quiet along the potomac
often is it not so?
i said
gingham dog and the calico cat
these be
a storm is riding on the tide
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
softly now the light of day

 



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