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baby poem

brief on a flying night
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
within this lowly grave a conqueror lies
braided and woven
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
if it
my sorrow, when she's here with me
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
thoughts through my head
over the river, on the hill
we who stood

 



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