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poem for pastors

my son is dead and i am going blind
those black eyes i once so praised
a thin gray shadow on the edge of thought
when, full of warm and eager love
he speaks not well
who is the runner in the skies
it was many and many a year ago
have we no shame?
the rain was over, and the brilliant air
roses and gold
now while my lips are living
my sorrow, when she's here with me


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