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grandmother poem

if i were very sure
rose and amber was the sunset on the river
above them all, looking down
high walls and huge
i think it just splendid
there are three ways in which men take
the hypocritic days
perhaps it is no matter that you died
tell me
as a white candle
my mother taught me that every night
shines the last age, the next with hope is seen
in september

 



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