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mother daughter poem

sleep sweetly in your humble graves
tripping up, falling down
the meadow was creeping
here falls no light
arched the flood
our pleasant moments fly
my son is dead and i am going blind
for truth, for love
do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
if i should die, think only this of me
look back with longing eyes and know that i will follow
i've won the race

 



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