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child poem

with her hair flaying wildly
lo! 'tis a gala night
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
if the red slayer think he slays
grieve not for the invisible
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
daughter, thou art come to die
with the sunset
into the silent land
among the mountains i wandered
with lips blood red and heart of stone
daughters of time

 



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