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broken heart poem

how like the stars are these white, nameless faces
if i should die, think only this of me
i am a woman
the fragrance came
risen from the dead
which i wish to remark
two rows of cabbages
the agony of having too much power
never in all my life
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i can not tell you now
weak-winged is song
and how could you dream of meeting

 



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