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birthday poem

in all things not spoken of
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
here lies a most beautiful lady
in the sphere
a look is but a ray
there were three in the meadow by the brook
have we no shame?
when, full of warm and eager love
though i am little as all little things
take my bracelets
the saddest of the year
what was it the engines said
up from the south at break of day

 



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