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grandmother poem

sing again the song you sung
the meadow was creeping
uplifting, as the wind blew
the air is full of dawn and spring
hang no wreath
brief on a flying night
for truth, for love
that year
she heard the children playing in the sun
it is true that you say the gods are more use to you than fairies
is there anybody there
if i had known how narrow a prison is love

 



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