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sad love poem

were it not for that singular smell
her face is fair and smooth and fine
i stand in the cold gray weather
before the solemn bronze saint
the long resounding marble corridors
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
i have had one fear in my life
we lay
skies they were ashen and sober
tell me less or tell me more
to come so soon to this imagined dark
long ago, in the young moonlight

 



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