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daughter poem

sleep, gray brother of death
the mountains they are silent folk
perhaps it is no matter that you died
to be able to see every side of every question
the snow whispers about me
i said
at midnight
in an old chamber softly lit
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
out of the sparkling sea
though love repine, and reason chafe
gone are the three, those sisters rare
i go my way complacently

 



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