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mother daughter poem

old wine to drink
i am in love with high far-seeing places
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
up from the meadows rich with corn
i have seen the proudest stars
we break the glass whose sacred wine
they in the darkness gather and ask
brother, i am fire
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
gone are the three, those sisters rare
renew the vision of delight

 



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