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poem for dad

old wine to drink
rising moon has hid the stars
i am singing to you
the darkness rolls upward
melancholy, blue it was
and how could you dream of meeting
stir
awful truths these be
come down at dawn from windless hills
the little white prayers
to come so soon to this imagined dark
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
a thousand silent years ago
as it

 



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