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sister poem

i make my shroud, but no one knows
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
dear wife
shades of night were falling fast
the hypocritic days
i can not tell you now
the air is like a butterfly
for truth, for love
beneath my window in a city street
i love the old melodious lays
all within and all without me
when night drifts along the streets of the city
green afternoon serene and bright
like eagles on up high

 



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