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christmas poetry

my true love from her pillow rose
i bid them all farewell
my soul goes clad in gorgeous things
high walls and huge
a mist was driving down
our pleasant moments fly
a little peach in the orchard grew
she limps with halting painful pace
this is the song of youth
i wonder where you live
tell me not
she might have known it in the earlier spring
old wine to drink
since i have felt the sense of death

 



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