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grandmother poem

the ancient songs
at midnight
i am weary of being bitter and weary of being wise
i flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying
it was a tall young oysterman
beautiful
wrap the earth in cloudy weather
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
there's one that i once loved so much
i am fevered
above them all, looking down
there is an hour of peaceful rest

 



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