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poem for dad

i go my way complacently
have you not heard
up and down he goes
in the dark and peace of my final bed
i can not tell you now
i am fevered
do not grieve that it is over
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
to clothe the fiery thought
it was a tall young oysterman
i sometimes wonder if it's really true
i have had one fear in my life
as evening falls

 



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