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grandma poem

do you think, my boy, when i put my arms around you
i love my hour of wind and light
somewhere i read a strange, old, rusty tale
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
she said
awful truths these be
still her gray rocks tower above the sea
city that is not a city
i despise my friends more than you
since, if you stood by my side today
the darkness rolls upward
in mournful numbers

 



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