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funny poem

when the hours of day are numbered
therefore i may not
a mile behind
this ancient silver bowl of mine
and as we walked the grass was faintly stirred
high-born race
i was a goddess ere the marble found me
i loathed you
of sun nor stars
moonlight deep and tender
three days i heard them grieve when i lay dead
from song and dream for ever gone
the sky

 



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