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funeral poem

it was a tall young oysterman
beneath the warrior's helm
all quiet along the potomac
when you come tonight
looking beyond
are you awake?
as i lie roofed in, screened in
winged shadows sweeping by
what was it the engines said
i despise my friends more than you
have we no shame?
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
up from the meadows rich with corn

 



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