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teen love poem

my mother taught me that every night
tripping up, falling down
two rows of cabbages
her face is fair and smooth and fine
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
i reside at table mountain
earth travails
up from the south at break of day
she must go back, she said
who loves the rain
i have seen the proudest stars
a poet, having taken the bridle off his tongue

 



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