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grandmother poem

gloom
my son is dead and i am going blind
i know not where
i am the wind that wavers
see the tentative
a few more windy days
when i was broke in london
all my love for my sweet
to come so soon to this imagined dark
he'd even have his joke
the agony of having too much power
when i returned at sunset
my mother taught me that every night

 



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