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teen poetry

bring me soft song
the agony of having too much power
there is no flock, however watched and tended
i am in love with high far-seeing places
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
though i am little as all little things
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea
on and on
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
are you alive?
the hypocritic days

 



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