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funny poetry

weak-winged is song
i make my shroud, but no one knows
they may talk of love in a cottage
daughter, thou art come to die
moonlight deep and tender
he's gone
you are my companion
i've won the race
rising moon has hid the stars
rocked in the cradle of the deep
made up of loveliness alone
and still they walked on
to some the fat gods
the snow whispers about me

 



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