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life poem

when a deed is done for freedom
sleep sweetly in your humble graves
stand here by my side
i walk down the garden paths
but i cannot read you now
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
last midnight
for truth, for love
i despise my friends more than you
gone before us
a gleam of gold in gloom and gray
a blue-black nubian plucking oranges

 



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