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mother poem

what spiteful chance steals unawares
from song and dream for ever gone
the meadow was creeping
there by the window in the old house
the shadows of the ships
sun stepped down from his golden throne
which i wish to remark
as i lie roofed in, screened in
blossoms of babies
at dawn, he said
did you ever hear of
all within and all without me

 



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