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missing you poem

in his guarded tent
soft as the bed in the earth
woman much missed, how you call to me, call to me
softly now the light of day
come down at dawn from windless hills
one with you
the little pitiful, worn, laughing faces
give me
beside a stricken field
arched the flood
i shake my hair in the wind of morning
dear wife
a storm is riding on the tide

 



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