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funeral poem

a blue-black nubian plucking oranges
one sweetly solemn thought
i know not where
white foam flower, red flame flower
the fragrance came
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
here lies a most beautiful lady
if i were very sure
perhaps it is no matter that you died
my soul is a dark ploughed field
the ships are lying in the bay
i bid them all farewell
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room

 



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