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grandmother poem

braided and woven
just now
desolate and lone
and so it goes
long has the summer sunlight shone
glass-blower of time
mid pleasures and palaces though we may roam
she might have known it in the earlier spring
i love the old melodious lays
there was a strangeness on your lips
there are three ways in which men take
i said
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise

 



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