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grandma poem

the old songs
i have heard them in the night
do the boys and girls still go
that year
there is an hour of peaceful rest
i saw you hunched and shivering on the stones
city that is not a city
you say you love me
under the harvest moon
when sea-winds pierced our solitudes
they threw a stone, you threw a stone
while i stood listening, discreetly dumb

 



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