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inspirational poetry

what spiteful chance steals unawares
perhaps it is no matter that you died
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
from floor to ceiling
she was a beauty in the days
softly now the light of day
i loathed you
god
i am dying
it tells of good old times
with lips blood red and heart of stone
in the cloud-gray mornings
two rows of cabbages

 



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