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mother daughter poem

in all things not spoken of
these hearts were woven of human joys and cares
on and on
we were not many
splendid and terrible your love
wheel me down by the meadow
my soul is a dark ploughed field
do not grieve that it is over
i am in love with high far-seeing places
have you heard
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars
the air is full of dawn and spring
world that changes under my hand

 



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