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i hold your heart
now while my lips are living
melancholy, blue it was
hang no wreath
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i bid them all farewell
risen from the dead
in the dark and peace of my final bed
i do not pray for peace
out of me unworthy and unknown
i gazed upon the glorious sky
this ancient silver bowl of mine
within my hand i hold
sitting in his rocker waiting for your tea

 



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