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grandma poem

stern cold man
among the smoke and fog of a december afternoon
i never knew the earth had so much gold
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
perhaps it is no matter that you died
i bid them all farewell
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb
their beautiful hair
gloom
when night drifts along the streets of the city
little park that i pass through
at dawn, he said

 



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