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friendship poem

this ancient silver bowl of mine
pushing out, struggling vainly
there was a time in former years
for then without
often is it not so?
my son is dead and i am going blind
a flying word from here and there
white foam flower, red flame flower
beneath my window in a city street
we who stood
sweet with fern and rose
my mother taught me that every night
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
i was a goddess ere the marble found me

 



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