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poetry for kid

all within and all without me
but i cannot read you now
tripping up, falling down
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
how wild, how witch-like weird that life should be
who will be naming the wind
daughter, thou art come to die
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
still thirteen years
let me move slowly through the street
up and down he goes
i love my life, but not too well
beautiful, tragical faces
with her hair flaying wildly

 



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