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mom poem

days endeared to every muse
bring me soft song
i saw him once before
the darkness rolls upward
those black eyes i once so praised
little gate was reached at last
come down at dawn from windless hills
truely
daughter, thou art come to die
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
i make my shroud, but no one knows
earth travails
here lies a most beautiful lady

 



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