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funeral poem

into the silent land
there by the window in the old house
sing again the song you sung
in his guarded tent
come down at dawn from windless hills
the darkness rolls upward
one sweetly solemn thought
sweet with fern and rose
the meadow was creeping
the single clenched fist lifted and ready
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
you are beautiful and faded

 



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