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teen love poem

i am the wind that wavers
wheel me down by the meadow
o fair and stately maid, whose eyes
eighty years have passed, and more
city that is not a city
stern cold man
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
uplifting, as the wind blew
night is dark, and the winter winds
why are the things that have no death
quietly, with reverance, in awe

 



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