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baby shower poem

backward, turn backward
the poets tell
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds
i have to say good-night
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
the stars fell from heaven
love me at last, or if you will not
with lips blood red and heart of stone
i stood by the open casement
fat black bucks in a wine-barrel room
a very remarkable history this is

 



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