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grandmother poem

i do not pray for peace
i gazed upon the glorious sky
beneath my window in a city street
in your arms was still delight
sleep, gray brother of death
the child who threw away leaf after leaf
the swan existing
arched the flood
how shall i help to right the world that is going wrong
over the river, on the hill
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
tripping up, falling down

 



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