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funeral poem

here falls no light
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
behold me, in my chiffon, gauze and tinsel
which i wish to remark
lo! 'tis a gala night
love has been sung a thousand ways
though i am little as all little things
there is no flock, however watched and tended
she has a clear, wind-sheltered loveliness
sweet and strong
there are gains for all our losses
desolate and lone
over the rooftops race the shadows of clouds

 



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