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mother poem

sadly speaking
softly now the light of day
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
night is dark, and the winter winds
so fallen
short and sweet, and we've come to the end of it
i do not pray for peace
is there anybody there
against the green flame of the hawthorn-tree
all within and all without me
weak-winged is song
take my bracelets

 



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