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death poetry

with lips blood red and heart of stone
my mother twines me roses wet with dew
i know not where
sweet with fern and rose
the ancient songs
i burn no incense
softly now the light of day
tripping up, falling down
i saw god. do you doubt it?
they may talk of love in a cottage
leave the lovely words unsaid
i walk down the garden paths
over the river they beckon to me
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes

 



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