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christmas poems

sleep, gray brother of death
there is no escape by the river
be patient, life, when love is at the gate
and with the humming bird
just as my fingers on these keys
along the banks
rocked in the cradle of the deep
desolate and lone
they may talk of love in a cottage
up and down he goes
all quiet along the potomac
let us pity those who are better off than we are

 



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