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suicide poetry

woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
the smell of the rose so false, the thorns so true
sweet with fern and rose
i love the old melodious lays
i burn no incense
give me hunger
of sun nor stars
to what shall a woman liken her beloved
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
in your flight
never in all my life
so lost
skies they were ashen and sober
i saw god. do you doubt it?

 



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