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sad poem

in and of itself
i walk down the garden paths
all within and all without me
not from the whole wide world
the hypocritic days
evidenced in the glimmer in your eyes
the endless, foolish merriment of stars
when, full of warm and eager love
doubtless i remember still
do the boys and girls still go
in the dark and peace of my final bed
death's nobility again

 



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