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free love poetry

my true love from her pillow rose
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
pushing out, struggling vainly
the darkness steals the forms of all the queens
how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
i hold your heart
she said
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
a very remarkable history this is
lo! 'tis a gala night
if the red slayer think he slays

 



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