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funeral poem

lady, your heart has turned to dust
i have known the silence of the stars and of the sea
i make my shroud, but no one knows
there is a city, builded by no hand
city that is not a city
at dawn, he said
under the harvest moon
if the red slayer think he slays
dark-eyed
up from the meadows rich with corn
your body's motion is like music
those on the top say they know you, earth-they are liars

 



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