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good bye poem

who loves the rain
lo! 'tis a gala night
he speaks not well
the stars fell from heaven
with the meek, brown eyes
wheel me down by the meadow
with her hair flaying wildly
out of the sparkling sea
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
sleep, gray brother of death
we were not many
a storm is riding on the tide
i saw the clouds among the hills
i am old and blind

 



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