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sad love poem

often is it not so?
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
a flying word from here and there
i hold your heart
sun and wind and beat of sea
among the mountains i wandered
i gazed upon the glorious sky
if i should die, think only this of me
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
in your arms was still delight
looking beyond
when i looked into your eyes

 



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