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anniversary poem

two rows of cabbages
i loathed you
now for a brisk and cheerful fight
when the wind works against us in the dark
i think it just splendid
tell me less or tell me more
my son is dead and i am going blind
a few more windy days
were it not for that singular smell
i am old and blind
out of me unworthy and unknown
in and of itself

 



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