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brother poem

i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
do not turn your head
softly weeping
it was many and many a year ago
i know what you're going to say
have you not heard
a mist was driving down
the long resounding marble corridors
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
there were three in the meadow by the brook
in halls of sleep you wandered by
tell me not

 



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